Abduction
by Jess S1
Summary: “Breaking Point” AU. What if instead of silencing Dr. Eppes permanently, Bonnie Parks’ kidnappers just wanted him out of the way so that the reporter would not be found?
1. Prologue: Hit & Run

**Disclaimers: ****Numb3rs**** belongs to Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci…I think. (NOT me! NEVER me!)  
Summary: What if instead of silencing Dr. Eppes permanently, Bonnie Parks' kidnappers just wanted him out of the way so that the reporter would not be found before they were ready to release her?**

**Warnings: Spoilers for Season 4, Episode 11: "**_**Breaking Point**_**", and possibly other episodes that relate ... I can't think of any warnings other than that. If you think of any that I should mention, please let me know!**

**AN: Well, this idea hit me the first time I watched the episode "**_**Breaking Point**_**", and I haven't seen this variation on the episode yet, so I thought I'd give it a shot. **

**Revised: 6/27/09.**

**Enjoy! ^_^**

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**ABDUCTION**

By Jess S

_**Prologue: Hit and Run**_

* * *

**_Cal-Sci, Pasadena, California_**

_3-8-1-1-8-1-2-9-5-0-1-9—1-6-1-5-9-1-4-2-0—1-5-6—2-2-9-5-2-3_

Charles Eppes jumped as a knock on his office door woke him from a light doze, and his head flew up from where it'd rested not quite comfortably on a pillow on his desk. He turned towards the door as it opened to see his old friend and colleague, Lawrence Fleinhardt. "Larry?"

"I come _beseechingly_," the physicist said as he entered the office, shaking his head. "In my efforts to rid my office of clutter, I may have dispensed with certain staple items. My copy of _Fisher and Boyd_* being one of them."

Charlie nodded, shaking off the vestiges of sleep that still clung to his weary form as he rose. "You want to borrow mine?" he moved over to his bookcase and quickly found the aforementioned book, taking it off the shelf and handing it to his friend. "Here."

"Thank you," Larry murmured, claiming one of the seats that students would usually use as he started persuing the book, even as Charlie turned towards his office door again to answer a second knock, which proceeded another _CalSci_ professor.

Amita Ramanujan, his girlfriend, smiled at him then blinked at Larry, clearly surprised to see him there so early in the morning. "Hi, Charlie. Oh, hey Larry."

"Hi," Charlie returned with a small smile as he moved back to his seat.

Taking in his rumpled outfit—obviously the same clothes he'd been wearing the day before—plus his weary face and form, Amita frowned in concern. "Did you sleep here last night?"

"Uh, yeah," Charlie sighed, looking down at the pillow on his desk.

Amita's frown deepened. "Oh, I didn't realize you had so much work. I would've helped." She scolded softly, concern dominating her expression as she shook her head.

"It-It wasn't work," Charlie replied, picking up the pillowed he'd used and holding it after seeing no place convenient to put it at the moment. "I was, uh," he sighed. "I think I was, kind of, being followed last night."

Amita's eyebrows shot up as she crossed her arms and shook her head, still clearly concerned. "What'd you mean? Where?"

"In my car on the way here." Charlie replied, then shook his head at her alarmed expression. "I'm probably just being paranoid."

Though still frowning, Amita nodded. "M-Maybe you accidentally cut someone off in traffic? I mean, your driving is questionable," she finished jokingly, with a half-amused grin, but that concerned look never left her eyes.

Charlie frowned at the pillow he'd unconsciously been hugging and shook his head, "There's nothing wrong with my driving." He hoped neither of his friends thought he sounded as petulant as his own ears thought he did.

But Larry chuckled, also grinning. "So, the chorus of car horns that follows in your wake, what is that? A spontaneous phenomenon?"

Charlie sighed, shaking his head again as he was not in the mood for the familiar argument. "It was really late last night. There wasn't any traffic for me to cut off... This pick-up truck just turned on its high beams and started tail-gating me. I pulled over to let them pass, but they just stopped behind me." The mathematician winced in remembered fear at the strange occurence, "They kept following me until I pulled off really quickly onto a back road to get here." He finished softly, and then tried to shrug it off as the discussion of the event called back the not-too-far-off-terror the event had evoked.

Though they'd been chuckling a moment before, now both Amita and Larry were worried.

"Umm... Well, did you talk to Don?" Amita asked, coming up beside him to put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"No," Charlie shook his head, some of the irritation he'd been feeling at his brother's continued, unforgiving anger at Charlie's media-mistake momentarily dispelling his rising, remembered fear. "Don was so pissed off about my interview yesterday. I... I didn't want to bother him." Then he sighed, weariness at both the continued problem and the new one taking over. "Besides what would I say? That I was scared by a tail-gater? What's he supposed to do about that?

"Well, if you gave him the license plate and a description of the vehicle he could, perhaps, ferret out who was following you. And maybe even why," Larry offered, his tone mild.

"I couldn't see the license plate. The truck was too close and the light was in my eyes." Charlie shook his head again. "I'm not even sure if the truck was white or silver, and the only thing that stood out was the high beams on the hood and," he thought hard for a second, then sighed again. "I guess the front of the truck looked a bit strange. But that could have just been because it was so close. Really, I'm surprised he didn't hit me."

"Well, even so," Amita shakes her head, moving directly behind him to start rubbing his shoulders, gently working out the painful knots that had formed while he slept bent over his desk. "You really should tell him, Charlie. He's an FBI Agent. He'd know what to do better than any of us, right?"

Charlie sighed, leaning forward to give her better access to a particularly stubborn knot in his right shoulder. "I guess..." a moment later he tensed again, as the thought of Don and the FBI reminded him of where he was supposed to be right then. "_Damn it!_" he swore, shooting to his feet quickly and moving away from his surprised girlfriend.

"Charlie?"

Charlie threw his pillow back onto his desk and hurried towards the door, where his coat was hanging on the wrack behind it. "I'm supposed to be at the FBI right now." Grabbing his coat, he groaned as he hurriedly put it on, his back and shoulders still sore from sleeping in an awkward position and his whole body weary from not getting enough sleep. "Great, one more thing for him to give me crap about!"

"Charles, is everything all right?" Larry asked, gazing at him in alarm.

Apparently both of the other _CalSci_ professors thought he was over-reacting, Charlie realized as he looked back at the concerned pair. But he really didn't feel like dealing with two reproofs this morning, so he turned and hurried out of the office without responding, stifling the twinge of guilt he felt as he left two very concerned colleagues behind.

**_FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California_**

_4-1-5-1-4-0-1-9--1-6-1-5-9-1-4-2-0--1-5-6--2-2-9-5-2-3_

Don shook his head as David paused the recording of missing investigative-reporter's exposé of Mexican pharmaceuticals, his eyes going to the other agent.

"The woman's got guts," David admitted, shaking his head. "In the last six years, Parks's taken on just about everybody. Mexican mafia, crooked border patrol agents, bad cops, judges, mayors," he waived at the screen, "and a whole lot of shady businesses."

"So she's got plenty of enemies," Don summarized glancing at the screen again.

"Yeah," Colby confirmed, drawing the other two agents eyes to him. "I counted twenty-eight companies or individuals who'd have reason to go after her for revenge."

Don glanced towards the door as it opened and watched as his brother quietly entered and closed it behind him, but chose to ignore his entrance and kept his full focus on his agents.

"I mean, they either went to jail, were forced to pay huge fines, or were kicked out of office, so..." Colby finished with a shrug.

"I, uh, I think I can find a way to narrow your choices," Charlie offered a little hesitantly at the cold reception.

"Yeah," David shook his head, grinning slightly. "You mentioned that in your interview."

Don frowned and snorted, unable to suppress the anger he still felt at his brother's slip-up. He was still filling out paper work for the assistant director on the problem, since it occurred on his watch. From a member of his family, no less. "Among other things." He felt a twinge of guilt as his brother looked away, obviously hurt, but ruthlessly suppressed it as he waited for the mathematician to explain how he could help with this case.

"Uh, it-it's called an a-symmetric threat-assessment," Charlie told them, looking away from their stares and – Don's glare – shrugging as he continued. "I know we've done threat assessments before, but, uh, I think I can use this one to analyze and calculate their motive."

Colby spoke up again then, clearly confused. "But Charlie, all twenty-eight of the suspects are presumably after the same thing. Revenge, right?"

"Y-Yeah, that's true." Charlie nodded and looked up to meet Colby's eyes again as he explained, apparently comforted by the youngest agent's more forgiving expression. "But each suspect is motivated to a different degree." He stopped for a second, biting his lower lip in thought, then he nodded to himself and continued. "You know that carnival game, where you shoot a squirt gun into a clown's mouth to fill up a balloon?"

Don rolled his eyes at having his brother throw yet another metaphor at them but, remembering how they did occasionally help him understand the math that was normally _way_ over his level of understanding, didn't tune him out or stop him.

"An a-symmetric threat assessment allows us to measure the factors that feed motive into each suspect, just like the mechanism in the game that measures the flow of water into each clown's mouth. It doesn't matter if the suspects all have the same motive, we just have to find the one case in which motive has been fed to the point where the balloon eventually pops. The suspects with the highest amount of motivation," he finished, only to shake his head again. "But that only considers the suspects that pose a threat to Bonnie Parks. Just as important are the people who are afraid of her. The people who she threatens."

"You mean anyone she's investigating who has something to hide," Colby followed.

Don nodded in agreement, "Yeah, do we know what she was working on?"

David shook his head, "No, not yet. We have a meeting with her producer and her editor this morning."

"Alright, good. Well, you know what to do," Don rose from his seat and nodded to Charlie, then to David and Colby, "and we know what to do, so let's get to it." He grabbed the folder he'd been reading earlier on his way out and opened it, reading it on the way to his desk, deliberately ignoring his brother, who'd followed him.

"Don..."

Don sighed at the clear note of hesitation he heard in his brother's voice, but decided again to ignore it. His brother had screwed up, he really should feel uncomfortable about it for at least a little while. "What, Charlie?" he snapped as he quickly sat down at his desk, opening up the folder of some of the anonymous calls the hotline had already receives on Parks' to quickly skim through it.

"Can... Can I talk to you for a second?"

"About what?" Don shook his head, his eyes still turned towards the phone calls as he flipped through the pages, though he wasn't reading them. "Something you left out of your interview?"

"N-No." Charlie paused for a moment, before continuing, a bit of irritation slipping into his tone. "You know I already apologized for that. I made a mistake—"

Don flipped the folder shut and slammed it down onto his desk before spinning around in his computer chair to glare up at his brother. "Yeah, a mistake, Charlie. One that the bureau _has_ fired people for in the past. 'Sorry' doesn't cut it!" Seeing some eyes turning towards his cubicle, Don deliberately lowered his voice part way through and turned away from the clearly chastised consultant. "Don't you have work to do?"

"Yeah, but..."

David and Colby passed by them then, coming away from their desks.

"Hey, Don," David told him, stepping around Charlie as Colby stopped next to the mathematician. "We're gonna head over to the producers now."

"Right, I'll keep looking through the LAPD's notes. See if they missed anything. Call me if you get anything."

"Will do," Colby replied, following David out, he nodded to both of them. "See ya, Charlie."

"Bye, Colby," Charlie returned, and his subdued tone finally got to his brother.

Don sighed, shaking his head as he looked at his brother again. "Alright, what?"

"Huh?" Charlie asked, turning back to him, eyes wide.

"What'd you want, Charlie? 'Cause I'm really busy here and you need to get going on that analysis. Wasted time could cost Bonnie Parks her life, if she's still alive."

"Oh, y-yeah. Y-You're right," Charlie shook his head and turned to leave. "I'll just... go get started then."

Don frowned at his brother's retreating back. "Charlie, what'd you want to talk about?"

Charlie stopped and turned back to him with a sigh. "I-It's probably nothing," he shook his head. "Forget about it."

Don continued to frown, watching his brother walk away and into the elevator. His big-brother-instincts were going crazy now, but after a moment he shrugged and turned his attention back to the case, ignoring them. He always felt guilty for feeling angry with Charlie, especially if he acted on his anger in any way. But this time the somewhat-naïve genius really did deserve it. Charlie had, after all, put Don's job in jeopardy. It wasn't really something the higher-ups would fire him for, but they could have taken the case away from him, put him on desk-duty or a suspension while another senior agent took charge of his team for this case. Fortunately, Merrick hadn't been that mad, but still...

Realizing he'd been staring at the same page in his notes for several minutes, Don shook himself again and forced his mind back to work.

_**Eppes' Hpuse, Pasadena, California**_

_3-8-1-1-8-1-2-9-5-0-1-9--1-6-1-5-9-1-4-2-0--1-5-6--2-2-9-5-2-3_

Several hours after leaving the FBI, Charlie sighed and shook his head as he looked over the threat-assessment he'd been working on for the better part of the day now, carefully changing another notation on the board and then turning back to his laptop to make the same adjustment. He then turned back to the board, chalk still in hand, to scan each line again. With his mind mostly gone in the world of numbers once more, he didn't notice when his girlfriend slipped into the garage and came up behind him.

Halfway across the garage, Amita shook her head, smiling slightly as she came several steps closer but deliberately stopped a few feet away from her boyfriend. "You know, I really, _really_ wanted to sneak up on you and yell "_boo!_" … But I thought it _might_ not be the best idea right now."

Charlie chuckled as he turned to her, smiling slightly. "Yeah, I appreciate the restraint."

"You have _no_ idea." Amita shook her head again, while moving closer. She leaned in to give him a kiss then leaned back, her dark eyes scanning the algorithm on the board. "Who's threat assessment?" she asked, the concern in her tone clearly indicating that she did remember how threatened Charlie himself had felt earlier that day.

Charlie shook his head, "It's for Don's missing reporter." He glanced at the laptop as he continued, before looking back at the board. "It's running, but..." he shrugged. "I keep reworking the algorithm."

Amita nodded, still frowning. "Twenty-eight's a pretty large value for _n_."

"She had a lot of enemies," Charlie agreed, though his mind was already delving into the algorithm again, taking most of his attention with it.

Amita remained quiet for several long moments, letting him work, but shook her head as he stayed still, staring at the board. Remembering a comment his father had made a few minutes before she asked, "Why does Alan keep grumbling about Ray trying to ruin the house?"

That seemed to snap Charlie out of his math-induced daze for at least a moment as he turned back to her. "You know, I'm really not sure," he replied, shaking his head. "All Ray wants is to make the house more eco-friendly and get off the grid a little. So..."

"And Alan's against that?" Amita asked, clear surprise in her tone. "Wasn't he the biggest activist-hippie in the sixties?" Charlie shrugged in response, clearly no less baffled even as he turned back to his algorithm. "City planning's all about efficiency... it doesn't make sense." She glanced at Charlie's laptop as it started beeping, then back at her boyfriend, who's mind had gone elsewhere again. "Charlie... your computer's done."

"Oh, thanks." Charlie turned to it, not even looking at the results as he snapped it shut and grabbed his backpack, slipping the computer inside. "All right. I've gotta get this over to Don..."

"Do you want me to ride with you?" Amita offered after a moment's thought.

"No," Charlie shook his head, rolling his eyes. "You were right, I probably just did something to annoy the jerk and he decided to scare me for it."

"You sure?" Amita asked, shaking her head. "I'd be happy to give you a ride."

Charlie chuckled and smiled as he leaned in to kiss her again, "I'll be fine by myself..."

"Okay," Amita nodded after a moment, walking with him to the door of the garage. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

Charlie frowned, looking at his watch. "Is it really that late?"

Amita rolled her eyes and reached out to grab his hand. "Charlie did you eat lunch or dinner?"

"Yeah, yeah," Charlie nodded, smiling at her concern. "I had lunch on the way home... and I'll stop for a burger or something on the way to the FBI. I just didn't realize it was that late... I'll see you tomorrow." He left out the fact that he'd barely eaten a few bits of the sandwich he'd bought for lunch, not liking it after he'd forgotten it in favor of starting to work on the algorithm. By the time he'd remembered the melted cheese and hot meat were both cold, and the soft bread they'd been served on had hardened a bit too much for his tastes.

"Okay, drive safe."

_4-1-5-1-4-0-1-9---1-6-1-5-9-1-4-2-0---1-5-6---2-2-9-5-2-3_

Don shook his head as he looked over the list of license plates Colby had just handed him, "That's a lot of plates."

"Yup," the younger agent agreed, "And she could be stashed in any one of 'em."

Don shrugged, but made no further comment. If Colby wanted the extra work, he wasn't going to stop him. Besides, it wasn't like they had anything else to go on at the moment. He glanced towards the door as it swung open and accepted the papers David handed him with a nod.

"The guys in the lab had no problem pulling off what was on those pads we found in her office. But it's kind of interesting, look at it." He pointed to the sheets of paper then quickly took the computer mouse from Colby to open up the file it was saved in on the FBI network. "It's just numbers... I mean, there's two full pages of it."

"Yeah," Don nodded in agreement, looking down at the two pages he was holding before turning back to his agents again. "Any theories on what they are?"

"I don't know," Colby shrugged, "it could be some kind of code. Maybe we should get Charlie on that?"

Don nodded again, "Yeah, all right, I'll give him a call." He wasn't too pleased at the idea of calling his brother back to the FBI so soon, having only chased him off a few hours before and still a little annoyed with him. But Charlie was still 'the guy' they went to for numbers. He listened to Colby and David with one ear as he put his phone to the other, waiting for Charlie to pick up.

"_Hello?_"

"Hey, Charlie," Don returned, hoping none of the mild irritation he was feeling at having to make this call leaked into his tone. "Look, I need you to take a look at some numbers..."

"_Okay, yeah... I'm on my way down there right now._" His brother replied, sounding a bit distracted. "_I just finished my threat analysis._"

"Yeah, anything?" Don asked, glancing out the window at the dark sky and deciding it was much too late for rush hour traffic being the cause of Charlie's distraction.

"_No... Nothing. Nothing unusual... No one stands out._"

"Really?" Don frowned at another dead-end, more than a little surprised at his brother not magically—or at least mathematically—finding their suspect like he had so many times before now. "With all the people she ticked off?" he sighed as his brother remained silent. "Where are you now?" As his brother's silence continued, Don's frown deepened. He didn't hear static or dead air, "...Charlie? ... Hey, can you hear me? Are you there?"

He wasn't reassured by the deep, clearly relieved sigh he heard his brother give a long moment later. "_Yeah, uh... I'm sorry. Yeah, I'll be there in about fifteen minutes, okay?_"

"Alright," Don nodded, his big-brother instincts were still unhappy, but Charlie would be here soon and he'd get to check on him then, anyway.

"_Alrighty. Bye._"

Don hung up his phone and tried to tune all the way back into David and Colby's discussion. He really hoped Megan got back soon. The team wasn't the same without her. Not only because they were an agent short and didn't like any of the temporaries the AD offered to assign, but also because despite the annoyance she occasionally caused when she was analyzing one of them, the profiler was a very useful team member in her own right. Don didn't doubt that there was something they were missing here that Megan Reeves would see...

_3-8-1-1-8-1-2-9-5-0-1-9---1-6-1-5-9-1-4-2-0----1-5-6---2-2-9-5-2-3_

Charlie sighed as he hung up his phone and dropped it down into his cup holder, while shrugging to try to relieve the tenseness that had suddenly grown in his shoulders when another truck had come close to tail-gating him.

"It's nothing," he told himself, shaking his head and shrugging again as he drove along, driving right by the Burger King he'd originally planned to stop at for a quick bite to eat. "I'm just being paranoid... It's nothing."

After a few miles of mumbling to himself, he finally managed to calm down, frowning as he glanced down at his speedometer and saw that he was well over the limit. Much as he'd like for this drive to be over, he really didn't want to show up at the FBI headquarters with a speeding ticket. So he forced himself to tap the brakes and slow down a bit.

The stress of the past twenty-four hours was taking a toll on his mind. Even before his interview the atmosphere at the FBI headquarters had been tense and harried. He'd felt in the way more then anything else when he'd visited, since they hadn't had any data for him to work with at the time. He supposed that was part of the reason that the reporter was able to get him talking. He'd wanted to feel useful and for all too short a moment he was: but to the wrong people.

When the reporter had first stopped him, a part of him had just wanting to see what kind of questions the man might ask. He remembered wondering what similarities this reporter's techniques might have to those of the missing Bonnie Parks. True, they really had different jobs, but they were both reporters...

Looking back on it, Charlie knew it had been foolish to even stop and listen to the reporter. He should have left immediately after saying he knew the FBI was doing all it could, but that he couldn't comment on the details of an ongoing investigation...

Still, it was a mistake that he'd now apologized for _twice_.

After being followed last night, the looks he was continually getting from Don and his team at the office, not sleeping in a bed and not getting anywhere near enough sleep anyway, Charlie was somewhat surprised he'd even been able to finish the threat-analysis without taking a break. Or passing out. Except for a few minutes early this morning and not too long before now, Charlie hadn't had any real wind-down time at all. The only times he had had was when his girlfriend had come calling. Amita, who'd noticed his harried state and expressed concern both times...

Charlie smiled slightly as he thought of Amita. A part of him wished she could help with this case somehow, if only so a fully friendly face would be around when he went into Don's work place. As it was, Colby seemed inclined to forgive just not quite there yet. David wasn't quite as rule-bound as he used to be but he still tended to follow his boss's lead ninety-percent of the time. Megan, sadly, wasn't here. And their boss, his brother, was probably still pissed.

He sighed again, his smile disappearing at the realization that his brother was undoubtedly still very unhappy with him, and probably wasn't going to be any better when he showed him that the a-symmetrical threat-analysis had really been useless. He probably wasn't happy about having to call him to help with another number problem, either...

Charlie blinked as a familiar shape further down the road caught his eye. His heart sank as he recognized the truck that had followed him the night before, now sitting along the side of the road. He watched anxiously as the truck's headlights came on and it pulled out behind him, quickly gaining despite the fact that he'd unconsciously pressed his foot a little harder down on the gas pedal as his heart had speed up.

The mathematician looked around, frantically, and was horrified to see that the road was completely deserted once again. It was just him and the truck. And this part of the highway was nowhere near any residential areas or businesses.

All the bitterness he was holding towards his brother disappeared in less than an instant and he frantically reached for his phone again, snapping it open to hurriedly push the speed dial for Don's cell.

He put the phone to his ear and listened to it ring, waiting fearfully for his brother to pick up eyes shooting back and forth between the road he was driving on and the swiftly gaining pursuer in his rearview mirror. As soon as it stopped ringing, he started talking, all but shouting into the phone, "Don, help—Ah!" he cried out, clinging to the phone as the truck rear-ended him from behind. A glance in the rearview mirror had him pushing even harder on his accelerator, hoping to gain some distance before his mind made sense of what his ears were hearing from the phone.

"—_manujan, I'm not hear right now, but if you leave a message after the tone with your name and number I'll get back to you as soon as possible._"

Charlie shook his head and brought the phone away from his ear, moving to end the call so he could hit Don's speed-dial but was stopped as the truck hit his car from behind a second time. The phone flew out of his hand and bounced off the dashboard as he cried out, "_Gahh!_"

He looked in his rear view mirror again, flinching as he saw the truck coming quickly up—too close—behind him once more.

"Oh God!"

He was slammed forward in his seat again, and looked frantically around, seeing only empty road and his cell phone, still open on the floor in front of the passenger's seat. A turn off caught his eye and he quickly pulled off, tapping his brakes once to gain control of his car before hitting the gas again, hoping to get away.

He heard a squeal of tires and then the headlights were behind him again, and gaining.

He shook his head as he looked around the unfamiliar, desolate area.

No cars.

No houses.

...Just open road.

His heart somehow sped up even more, pure terror seizing him as he glanced in the rear view mirror again, to see that the truck was close enough to hit him again. "No!"

This time it hit him hard enough to make his head slam forward into his steering wheel, momentarily disorientating him, and by the time he noticed he was heading right for a tree it was too late. He only barely managed to turn enough to the left to make his car hit along the side, instead of head on.

_**SMASH!!!**_

The tree stopped his car and made the airbags deploy, smashing Charlie back into his seat and knocking the wind out of him before holding him there.

A moment or two later Charlie shook himself out of his daze and started struggling against the massive white mass that was restraining him. He reached for his car door handle, but the door was suddenly jerked open and out of his grasp.

He heard something pop and fell forward a bit, only to be stopped by his seatbelt as the airbag deflated. Before he could do anything else he felt something close over his mouth and nose: a hand holding a cloth that smelled strange.

It was a smell he unhappily recognized from one of his early college chemistry classes, when a student had mixed it—supposedly—by accident...

_Chloroform_. The sweet-scented liquid that was dripping off of the cloth over his face was chloroform: a knock-out drug.

He tried to pull away as the sweet smell flooded his senses, but couldn't move.

Pinned in his seat by his seatbelt and the hand that was pushing his head back into the seat, he had nowhere to go. There may have been more hands holding him too, he couldn't really tell as the cloying chemical started to take effect, each strained breath pulling the drug into his mouth, burning its way down his throat and into his lungs. His vision blurred and seemed to shrink till he could only vaguely see a light in the distance. But that, too, started to blur.

Then his eyes rolled back in his head and everything went black.

* * *

End of **_Prologue: Hit & Run_.**

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**AN: So? What'd you think? I know I stole quite a bit from the scripit, but I did warn you about spoilers for the episode, and it is supposed to be set right then... it wouldn't really make sense for me to change what they said completely, would it?**

**One note from in the chapter itself: *1 – 'Fisher and Boyd' – I hope this is right...when I Googled it I got a law firm, but it was the closet I could think of...**

**Anyway, I hope everyone liked it and would love some constructive criticism/comments. Remember, reviews are the only payment a fan fic writer ever gets!**

**Bye f****or now! ^_^**

**Jess S**

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NEXT: _**Chapter 1: Missing**_**.**


	2. Chapter 1: Missing

**Disclaimers: Numb3rs belongs to Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci…I think. (NOT me! NEVER me!)  
Summary: If Bonnie Parks' kidnappers had wanted her dead, they would have killed her. But if they just wanted her out of the way for a while, wouldn't they just want to do the same thing for Dr. Eppes? Grab him and get him out of the way so that the reporter would not be found before they were ready to release her?**

**Warnings: Spoilers for Season 4, Episode 11: "_Breaking Point_", and possibly other episodes that relate ... I can't think of any warnings other than that. If you think of any that I should mention, please let me know!**

**AN: Here's Chapter 1. It's a bit rough right now, and I probably should get a beta-reader for this. Any volunteers? I'll say more at the end, but for now: Enjoy! ^_^**

**Revised****: 3/12/09.**

* * *

**Abduction**

**By Jess S**

_**Chapter 1: Missing**_

_**FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California**_

4 1 5 1 4 0 1 9 0 0 0 1 6 1 5 9 1 4 2 0 0 0 0 1 5 6 0 0 0 2 7 9 5 2 3

Don frowned, glancing towards the elevator doors for the third time since Charlie's phone call. He'd said fifteen minutes, and so far an hour had passed. Big brother couldn't help but worry. There shouldn't be much traffic now, but accidents could happen, especially with how the absent-minded genius drove.

"Any word from Charlie?"

Don glanced over towards Colby and shook his head in response. "He's on his way in."

"From where?"

"Home, I think."

"Maybe he stopped to grab something to eat," David suggested, his eyes fixed on his computer screen as he scrolled through pertinent files.

Don glanced towards the clock on the bottom of his monitor again, then nodded, "Maybe." Though a part of him didn't think Charlie would even notice that it was dinner time without someone suggesting it to him.

Brilliant as Charlie was, normal, day-to-day tasks like eating three real meals a day at reasonable times frequently gave him problems. Though he'd definitely improved a bit under Amita's influence, undoubtedly finding it easier to remember lunch—most of the time—when he had a hot date waiting for him. But sometimes he still forgot, especially if he was caught up in math.

Don started as the ring of a cell phone broke the air and glanced over at Colby as the younger agent answered.

"Granger." Colby frowned after the first few seconds, shaking his head. "All right, we'll check it out." He hung up and turned to his two waiting colleagues. "That was LA General. One of the Jane Does in their morgue matches Bonnie's description."

Don winced, shaking his head as the gloomy prospect. "Right," he glanced at David, nodding towards the computer. "You almost done with those?"

"More than half, yeah," David shrugged. "You two go check it out, I'll have 'em finished by the time you get back."

"Alright," Don nodded, rising and grabbing his coat, checking to make sure his badge and gun were still on his belt before grabbing his own cell phone off his desk and slipping it into his pocket. "Give me a call when Charlie gets here, OK?"

"Will do."

Don nodded and made his way towards the elevator, where Colby was waiting for him. He shook his head, trying to shake off the feeling that he was missing something really important. As the elevator doors slid shut he hoped that whatever it was wouldn't come back to bite him. And that the dead Jane Doe they were going to check-out wasn't Bonnie Parks.

_**An Unknown Location**_

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Charlie woke up suddenly. And was immediately aware of why: he couldn't breathe! Water was flooding his mouth and nose and eyes.

It took only a second of panic for him to also realize that strong hands were holding him facedown in the water, but that the rest of his body was dry. He tried to jerk backwards, desperately kicking out, attempting to strike his assailants. But he hit open air and another set of hands grabbed his legs, pinning them to the floor. He continued struggling as his lungs screamed for oxygen, growing more and more desperate with each passing second.

Then the arms that were holding him under suddenly pulled back, dragging his head into the open air.

His eyes watered as he started coughing up the water he'd swallowed even as he took in desperate gasps of air, his body shaking and his stomach rolling from the scare.

"There, his face is clean, ya happy?" he heard an unfamiliar man's voice ask gruffly as he was pulled to his feet.

"The boss said he didn't want any permanent damage done to 'em," another unfamiliar man replied as another set of hands grabbed him on the opposite side of his body from the first, and he was easily picked up by the two men as they continued to talk, all but ignoring his feeble efforts to escape their grasps. "And chlor'form can burn ya skin. We had ta wash his face, it was already red. If _you_ hadn' put so much on the rag, it wouldn't 'ave gotten on his skin, now would it?"

Charlie heard the first man snort just before he was dumped on cold cement ground. One of his arms was snatched and pulled toward something, only to be released after a cold band of metal had closed around it. His vision still a bit blurry, he struggled to look up at the two men.

Both were large, tall and muscular, dressed in all black and wearing black ski masks.

"Ha," the second voice came from the slightly smaller man, who was glaring down through the holes of his mask, his hands on his hips. "Looks like the prof's joined us."

Charlie stared at him, swallowing slightly as his stomach continued to roll uncomfortably, his mouth feeling oddly numb and his hands still shaking. "Wh-Who are you?"

Both men laughed, shaking their heads.

The larger one shook his head. "The boss saw ya on the news the other night, and he's no' ready to see Bonnie off jus' yet, so 'e wants you to keep 'er company."

Charlie glanced over to the side of the dark room the man had nodded at and his eyes widened as they met a pair of shadowed blue eyes that he'd been seeing on the news and all around his brother's office for several days now.

"Think ya can do that, prof'?" the smaller man asked, forcing Charlie's attention back to him by kicking out at him, a booted foot hitting none-too-softly in Charlie's gut.

Charlie grunted in pain and immediately started coughing again as he bent over himself, hugging his middle while his stomach woefully rolled over again.

"Come on you two," the voice of a third man called, a distinct echo—like from a staircase—trailing his call. "He's breathing and conscious, like the boss ordered. We don't leave now, we'll miss the end of the game. And I ain't watchin' it here."

"Yeah," one agreed as both turned, the other one echoing him.

A moment after both had passed through the entrance to the room, which strangely didn't seem to have a door, the smaller man came back in, walking over to him and dropping a small bag at his feet. "Here ya go. Make it last, cause we won't be back for awhile... See ya, Bonnie." Then he walked out, and a few seconds later he heard several grunts as something heavy was moved into the opening, completely blocking the passage.

Charlie stared at the blocked exit, his still fuzzy and panicked brain struggling to comprehend what had happened to him.

"D-Dr. Eppes?"

Charlie jerked towards the hesitant voice, meeting Bonnie Parks' eyes with a frown. "Y-You know me?"

"I'm a reporter. And your book was a bestseller." The woman shrugged, a small smile making her pale face pretty. "A good reporters got to keep track of the news."

"You read my book?" The mathematician murmured, always surprised when someone brought it up with him outside of book signings or academia. Even _in _academia, among his peers, he was frequently surprised by mentions of it.

"Y-Yeah. My editor gave it to me." The reporter shrugged. "I'm not very good at making friends."

Charlie stared at her for a moment before sighing and shaking his head, as his weary, frightened mind slowly accepted where he was. "Good friends are hard to find."

Bonnie gave a short laugh, "Yeah, but I'd probably have some if I tried any of the things you suggested. My editor's always telling me I should at least play nice with my co-workers, but I..." she shrugged again and shook her head. "I get caught up in my work."

"I can understand that." Charlie chuckled, shaking his head and immediately wincing as his brain protested painfully. "I can work on math for days without really noticing them pass by if someone doesn't stop me. I think the only difference is that I work at a university with many people who are interested in that work. And I liv—well, my Dad lives with me. So I can't ignore the world for too long."

"Must be nice," Bonnie sighed. "My Mom and Dad both died years ago. Dad had lung cancer and a few months after he died Mom was hit by a drunk driver. And my brother, Clay, was in the military. H-He was killed in Iraq."

"I'm sorry." Charlie murmured, and winced again as he received a shrug in reply. "My Mom died a few years ago, too. From breast cancer."

"Hm, what are the odds?" Bonnie joked, then shook her head. "No, wait. You're a math-genius, right? You can probably tell me."

The mathematician shrugged. "I'd need to do some research first, gather data." He winced again, a hand going to his forehead, where he found a slightly bloody bump seemed to be the source of his pain. "Owe."

"You should drink some water," Bonnie told him, and when he looked at her she pointed to the bag their captors had left with him. "If they used chloroform on you, too, you're probably dehydrated."

Charlie obediently reached for the bag: a plain brown-paper shopping bag, rolled closed, and unrolled it. Inside he saw three bottles of water, a few packets of peanut-butter crackers and three sandwiches in plastic-wrap. He reached for a bottle and opened it, quickly taking a gulp and rinsing his mouth out with it before swallowing it and several more gulps.

"Careful, you don't want to make yourself sick," Bonnie cautioned.

Charlie winced as his stomach rolled again, almost like it was agreeing, making him dutifully slow down and take smaller sips. A few moments later he sighed as he closed the half-empty bottle down and set it on the ground beside him. "D-Do you know where we are?"

"One of Taylor's properties, I think." Bonnie replied, sighing again as she leaned back against the wall. "Has to be somewhere out of the city though. I yelled myself hoarse the first few days, and no one heard me."

Charlie frowned, struggling to think as his headache grew more and more painful. "...Who?"

_**FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California**_

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Don frowned as he made his way across the bullpen again, Colby a few steps behind him. He glanced at David. "Charlie's not in yet?"

The younger agent shook his head. "Not yet."

"Weird," Colby commented, also shaking his head as he sat down as his desk. He raised an eyebrow at the other two agents. "You think he's having car troubles or, I don't know, something?"

"I'd think he'd call if that happened," Don shook his head, taking his cell phone off his belt, quickly dialing his brother's phone number from memory. His frown deepened as the phone went to voicemail, his brother hardly ever went anywhere without his phone _and_ he'd had it with him when he'd supposedly been on his way in. Maybe the battery had died? "Hey, Charlie, where are you? You were supposed to come into the office, remember? Give me a call."

The FBI agent struggled to dismiss the irritation his brother's forgetfulness inspired. All of them knew better than to get caught up in a case like this, but they were probably Bonnie Parks last hope. The LAPD had all but dismissed her as dead. And all of the dead-ends they kept hitting were not helping the team's morale. So having Charlie say he'd come in to check out a new lead–since it was numbers–and then just not show up really ticked him off.

It hadn't really helped that the dead Jane Doe in LA General's morgue wasn't Bonnie Parks. They didn't have next of kin to check with, but he and Colby had spent more then enough time staring at pictures and recordings of the reporter to be able to tell that, even under the heavy bruising on the poor woman's face, she definitely wasn't Parks. Though that meant Bonnie might still be alive somewhere, the act of going to the morgue to see if it was her was trying and tiring after too many too long days.

As his phone's familiar ring made itself know, Don snatched it off his belt, glancing at the ID on the view screen before answering it with a small frown. Amita didn't usually call him unless she was helping them on a case, and Charlie hadn't asked to bring her onto this one. "Eppes," he answered, hoping to keep it brief, especially if Amita was calling on her boyfriend's behalf. Don liked his brother's girlfriend and didn't want to snap at her if that was the case. She was just the messenger.

"_H-Hi, Don,_" Amita's voice came through, "_Is Charlie there?_"

Don shook his head, frowning. "No, he's not."

"_Oh. Did he head home—already?_"

"No. He hasn't made it in yet."

"_What? But he—hours ago!"_

"Are you sure he was coming straight here?" Don asked, his frown deepening slightly in response to the bad connection and the topic. "Maybe he stopped at CalSci and got distracted by something?"

"_No, he wa—right in. He—show you. I—im to stop for—but—_"

"Amita, you're breaking up," Don cut in, shaking his head as he took a quick glance at his phone to confirm that his battery wasn't low, so he knew it couldn't be him.

"_Sorry it's d—lot lately._" Amita told him quickly, having raised her voice a bit as though that would make up for the technological problem. "_I'm al—home—call you—_"

"OK, drive safe." Don nodded as he hung up and glanced over at David, who was still reading tips files on the computer. But then again, the helpful/gossipy side of the public always ensured that they had more then enough tips to rundown. Whether the ventures would bear fruit or not was another question entirely. "Found anything?"

"No. Did Amita know--?"

"Nope, I'll call his office at Cal-Sci in a bit, but Amita said he was going to stop for dinner, I think. The connection wasn't very good. She's gonna call me back from her apartment." Don shook his head, throwing another useless file into a half-full box of them on the floor. He glanced at the desk across from David's and raised an eyebrow. "Where's Colby?" he asked, frowning at not knowing himself since he'd come in with the junior agent a few minutes ago.

David nodded towards the media room. "He's looking for plates, again. Got halfway though them this afternoon. I think he wants to finish that before heading home."

"Heading home?" Don glanced at the wall, then sighed as he saw it was well past ten o'clock in the evening. "Yeah we probably should, shouldn't we?" With no leads to run down there was no point in running themselves ragged. Something Megan probably would have pointed out had she been there. He shook his head, then frowned again. "Have we looked at her home yet?"

"Parks?" David shook his head. "No. We have a report from the LAPD on it," he rummaged through the files on his desk for a minute, then pulled one of them out and handed it to Don. "Here."

Don nodded his thanks, quickly looking through it. "There's not much here."

"Yeah, well. If it's anything like her office, there wouldn't be. Her producer called her 'an absolute professional,' and said she was really secretive during her investigations. Colby and I were gonna check the apartment out tomorrow, to see if she did any work there." David shrugged, "But from the LAPD's report it doesn't look like it."

Don nodded, suppressing a sigh at the sorrow that rose up as he was presented with yet another example of how little Bonnie seemed to have in her life besides her work. And how similar he, himself, was to that. It was one of the reasons stopping by his brother's house for his Dad's dinners was often appealing.

Outside of work and his family, Don really didn't know anyone. He worked all the time. Almost all of the women he'd occasionally dated over the years were women he'd met while at work. And really the major difference between the two of them and their work was that Don worked with a team of fellow agents while Bonnie worked alone...

Don shook his head, forcefully dismissing the thoughts and looked at David again, to see he was still going through files. Don looked at the files on his desk wearily then shook his head, rising to his feet. "I'll grab Colby and head over there now, no sense—" he cut off as his cell phone rang again and checked the ID again, "one minute," he said to David, before opening the phone again. "Eppes."

"_Donnie, hello._"

"Hi, Dad," the Agent replied and then rolled his eyes when he saw David look away with a grin. "How are you?"

"_Fine, fine. But I was hoping you'd heard from your brother?_"

"No," Don sighed again. "Not since I asked him to come in a few hours ago. Did Amita call you?"

"_Yes, she did... So he's not at your office?_"

"No, Dad, he's not."

His Dad was silent for several long moments before he demanded, his tone now clearly worried. "_And he's not at home or at CalSci. So where is he?_"

Don sighed, dropping into his chair again as he shook his head. "Are you sure he's not at CalSci, Dad? There are plenty of places he could be working on something, besides his office. I mean, they're on winter break still, right? So he could be working in any one of the classrooms if he needed more boards..." Don ignored the part of his mind that insisted that didn't make sense, not with the number of boards Charlie had in his garage, his office, and here at the FBI, where the genius was still currently supposed to be.

"_Well, I think Amita would still be able to find him, Donnie. She went back to check after she talked to you. He's not there._"

"Yeah, well," Don frowned as what his father had said fully registered. "Wait, I thought Amita was on her way home?"

This made his Dad sigh wearily, "_She wanted to make sure he didn't stay on-campus overnight again._"

Don's frown deepened, "Stay on—he didn't come home last night? Why?" He remembered Charlie saying he had to finish work that he hadn't gotten to because of the case, but had assumed at the time his brother was exaggerating. He had to suppress a twinge of guilt—that was becoming irritatingly persistent in regards to Charlie lately—at the thought of his brother needing to pull and all-nighter to finish his own work after devoting time to Don's case. And then coming into to get chewed out, nonetheless. Not that Charlie hadn't deserved it, but still.

"_He wouldn't say. I assume he had work to do._" His Dad replied, another assumption in his tone that made Don shake his head defensively, respect for the man that raised him just barely keeping him from snapping the words.

"Dad, I had to yell at him for—you know I'm right about this!" the FBI Agent insisted, shaking his head. "He shouldn't—"

"_He shouldn't have said anything to that reporter. You know that. I know that. He knows that. But he's not one of your agents, Donnie. And he's not perfect._"

"I know that, Dad—"

"_Do you? Some times I'm not so sure._" After a moment of silence, his Dad sighed, "_Well, I'll try to get some sleep, then. And you should too—the hours you keep are ridiculous. Call me if you see your brother._"

Don rolled his eyes but nodded in compliance, "Will do, Dad." While hanging up, he glanced at the clock again, shaking his head. "David, we should call it a night. I'll tell Granger."

"I'll tell him, Don," David shook his head as he rose, nodding towards Don phone. "Weren't you going to call Charlie?"

Don shook his head, but sighed as the younger agent walked away, then got his phone out again, dialing Charlie's office phone from memory.

_**An Unknown Location**_

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Charlie frowned, still struggling to concentrate through a pounding headache as Bonnie explained her current investigation to him. "What was wrong with the numbers?"

Bonnie sighed, "Obviously something. Because my source at the County Assessor's Office called me and told me that some of Taylor's thugs had shown up at his office and he'd spilled. The next day Taylor's thugs ambushed me in the parking lot when I was on my way to meet another source before she started work." The reporter shook her head ruefully. "I got careless. I knew Taylor was dangerous, but I didn't pay it much mind when I found out he knew I was investigating him."

"But you said there was something wrong with the property values. What was it?"

"My source didn't know," Bonnie shrugged, clearly frustrated. "He just said that there was something wrong with them..."

"Wait, is your source an assessor?"

Bonnie looked at him a moment, then shook her head. "No. He's still in training, just out of school. But he's smart... When I went to see his boss to ask questions about Taylor's properties the man wouldn't give me the time of day. Then as I was leaving this kid followed me out, and..." she shrugged again. "My gut said that he had my story, so I started pumping him for information. He got me all of those numbers... it took him a few weeks, because he wasn't really supposed to be looking at Taylor's files. But eventually he gave me a list of the forty-nine properties Taylor had brought for insanely cheep prices."

"So," Charlie shook his head, trying to ignore the migraine that was building up inside it, "you think he paid someone in the Assessor's Office to undervalue the properties so that he could get them cheap?"

I thought he'd just bullied them all into selling at low prices, with his thugs, but..." Bonnie looked at him for a long moment, her eyes wide before she nodded. "Y-Yeah. That makes sense. If he owned someone in that office, he could've easily tricked those poor people with false values. Most of the people he cheated never went to college, some didn't even finish high school." She shook her head. "So anyone from the office in a nice suit who had the language down would probably be able to fool them. Especially with all of the stress Taylor's thugs were causing them... Damn it! I am _so_ stupid!"

"What? Why?" Charlie asked, unable to follow the sudden switch in tone with his rapidly developing migraine choking his thought process.

"How could—I should have seen this! I _saw_ the way the senior assessor acted when I mentioned Taylor. And I _knew_ something was wrong with the numbers. If I'd just followed that line of thought—"

"Hey, listen. The FBI's looking for us, when they find—"

"It doesn't matter, Charlie!" Bonnie protested, frowning fiercely. "I can't link Taylor's thugs to him. Neither of us have seen their faces. They've never mentioned Taylor's name. And it's not like we can make any of the assessors talk. Besides, I've been gone for two weeks now, right?"

Charlie shook his head slightly, stopping as it protested furiously. "Almost. Ten days."

Bonnie sighed, "The only thing stopping Taylor from tearing down all those houses to start his big redevelopment is he still needs to be cleared by the zoning commission. That vote is at the end of the month. And that's, what, twelve days from now?" she shook her head, a hand going up to rub her forehead to fight off the tension headache she was undoubtedly developing. "The only thing I can link to Taylor are the numbers—and I don't see how that can help the FBI. I know that the men that grabbed both of us work for Taylor, because I've seen them terrorizing people he wants to sell, but I can't _prove_ it. All I have is a few pictures of Taylor talking to one of them on a crowded street, and only one of those was any good. I don't even have pictures of the thugs doing anything. And I certainly don't have anything to give the FBI to put him away!" She shook her head again, her eyes damp, "And the city thinks Taylor is some big hero, so of course the vote will go through!"

Charlie winced again, struggling to find something reassuring to say in response, but a particularly painful pang inside his head made him whimper, drawing the discouraged journalist's attention back to him.

"I'm sorry," Bonnie murmured, her tone now softer and warm again, sympathetic to his obvious pain. "You should eat and try to get some rest. It'll make you feel better. Let me," she rose from her seat on the floor, shuffling around the pipe she was cuffed to, stopping as she got just barely close enough to reach his bag. Looking inside, she nodded and took out a sandwich. "Here. Eat this," she handed it to him, and shook her head when he grimaced at it. "I know you don't feel well, but that's probably because you haven't eaten anything in hours, and—"

"I was out that long?" Charlie frowned, trying to remember how long the effects of chloroform were supposed to last. He didn't think it was anywhere near that long.

"No. They dropped you down here a little over an hour before they, uh, before they woke you up. But the bigger one was complaining about how long the drive took. Said they might not even get to see the end of the game, which I assume is one of the football games this month and those usually ends pretty late. When did they grab you?"

"Just before seven, I think. Oh, wait," Charlie raised the wrist that wasn't handcuffed, "I forgot." He glanced at the face of his watch and then grimaced at the time. "It's just after midnight."

"We've been talking a while," Bonnie murmured, then she nodded to the sandwich she wanted him to eat again. "I do know that one of the effects of chloroform is nausea. Believe me, I remember it. But as much as your stomach might not want food, it does need it. So please, eat."

"What about you?"

"I ate my 'dinner' a while ago. And I'm trying to ration what they do give me. In case they—" she shrugged and shook her head. "I'll be fine till morning. You should eat."

With a sigh, Charlie complied, hoping his body would take pity on himself and keep the much-need sustenance down despite its tendency to refuse food when he had headaches, especially migraines.

_**Eppes' Home, Pasadena, California**_

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Alan Eppes frowned as he went to the front door as he glanced at the clock. It was awful early for a social call. His frown deepened as he opened the door, not recognizing the two men in suits that stood their waiting for him. "Can I help you?"

"Alan Eppes?" the slightly older one asked. His face was altogether serious but his green eyes were kind, making Alan nervous.

He'd just talked to Donnie a few hours ago, he shouldn't even be at work yet considering how late it must have been when he went home. _If_ he actually went home last night.

Nervously, Alan wetted his lips quickly, before replying slowly perhaps to put off whatever terrible news they might bear, "Yes, can I help you?"

"I'm Detective Philip Reynolds, this is Detective Adam Wilson, LAPD," Detective Reynolds told him, as both showed him their badges and credentials. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Oh, um, of course, of course. Please," Alan stepped back, holding the door open for them and waving towards the living room. "Come in."

"Thank you," Reynolds nodded and moved in, his partner following.

Alan closed the door behind him and then followed the detectives into his living room, wringing his hands nervously as he tried to think of what they could possibly be here ask him about. "What can I do for you, detectives?"

"Your son, Dr. Charles Eppes, drives a Toyota, correct?"

"Charlie – What—?"

"Please answer the question, Mr. Eppes." Detective Wilson cut in, his tone firm.

Alan nodded slowly, though he could still feel blood draining out of his face. "Y-Yes, Charlie drives... uh, he drives a Toyota Prius. A Hybrid."

"What year?"

"Wh-What?"

"What year is—" Detective Wilson paused as his partner put a hand on his arm before stepping forward to take Mr. Eppes and pull him towards a nearby chair.

"Here, have a seat, Mr. Eppes."

"Th-Thank you." Alan replied, a part of him remembering his manners even as the rest of his mind was trapped in a horrified daze.

"Can I get you a glass of water? ... Mr. Eppes?"

After a moment Alan shook his head and looked up at both detectives again. "Wh-What happened to Charlie?" then at the look the two exchanged, he demanded. "I-Is he okay?"

Detective Reynolds sighed, shaking his head after another moment's silence. "We're currently investigating that, sir. Now, please describe his car for us."

"But—"

"We can't answer any of your questions until you answer ours, Mr. Eppes," Detective Wilson cut him off again.

Alan stared at both of the detectives for a moment before nodding. "I—he, it's a 2004. Um, the model's a, uh, NHW20, I-I think." He glared at the detectives as they exchanged looks again. "My older son, Don, is an FBI Agent, can I—"

"We'll be talking to Agent Eppes shortly, sir," Detective Reynolds told him, before continuing with a nod. "He works at the Los Angeles Office, correct?"

"...Yes."

"And Dr. Eppes does consult for him on occasion, correct?"

"Yes, Charlie consults for a lot of people in the government and big companies. I've, uh, I've honestly stopped trying to keep track of them all."

"But Dr. Eppes does consult for the FBI?"

"I just said that he did!" Alan protested, glaring at both detectives.

Detective Reynolds raised his hands slightly, shaking his head. "Relax, Mr. Eppes."

"How can I rela—?"

"We just have a few more questions. We'll tell you what we can after you've answered them, all right?"

Alan glared at both of them, but nodded.

"And Dr. Eppes was working on the Bonnie Parks case, correct?"

Alan opened his mouth, then closed it, frowning at them. "I'm not supposed to talk about that. Don't you watch the news?"

Both detectives sighed, and Wilson put the small notebook he'd been referring to for his questions away in a coat pocket, before glancing at his partner.

Reynolds nodded. "Well, it looks like we'll probably be handing this over to the FBI, so as you just pointed out, we really can't tell you anything."

"Now wait a—"

"The Agents that are assigned to the case will undoubtedly be contacting you shortly. Our chief already told us to report our findings there this morning. So you can ask your son what's going on after that, if you'd like."

Alan shook his head, his earlier shock and worry disappearing in the wake of his anger towards the detectives continued silence. "Then we'll drive there now."

"The Assistant Director won't be available—"

"If my son can't get a hold of his boss for his younger brother, I'll start going through all of Charlie's contact lists until I find someone that can!" Alan snapped at both of them, even as he stepped around them to grab his car keys and wallet off a nearby table, stopping momentarily to open the table's single drawer and pull out the small phonebook full of emergency contacts Charlie had told him about a few years before. He thought it was a joke before, but now... Shaking his head he slammed the drawer shut and turned towards the front door.

Detective Wilson stepped in between him and the front door, easily blocking the older man's path. "We'll go now, sir. It'll be faster, and probably safer, if you come with us."

Alan glared at him, but after a moment sighed and nodded.

_**FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California**_

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Don shook his head, clipping his cell phone onto his belt as he rose. After a moment's thought, he glanced at David. "What's Colby doing again?"

"Looking up license plates from the mall's security cameras. He should almost be done by now. Unless there were more plates visible in the later half of the tapes. You were going to go check out Bonnie's apartment this morning, right?"

Don sighed, nodding, "Yeah." Noticing the elevator doors opening out of the corner of his eyes—into the mostly empty office, as it was still very early—he turned towards them and blinked as he saw Amita coming his way, her face streaked with tears. "Amita? What's wrong?"

The Agent's frown deepened as his brother's girlfriend started babbling through her tears. He picked up something about her 'phone' and 'Charlie,' but not much else as words flew out of her mouth, half-choked by sobs.

"Hey, hey. Whoa. Hold on a sec," Don told her, gently taking hold of her shoulder and leading her to the nearby, and break room. He gently pushed her into a chair before nodding in thanks as David closed the door behind them, while he quickly grabbed a new bottle of water out of the fridge and placed it on the table in front of her. "Here, help yourself. Gotta replace some of the water you're losing. Now what's this about Charlie and your phone? Did he call you?"

A random thought popped into his head then, one that he dearly hoped was wrong. Because it'd be really awkward. One, even if Charlie wanted to break up with Amita, he couldn't ever be callous enough to do it over the phone. Two, last time he'd checked, Charlie had been head-over-heels for this girl. And Don didn't think Amita would come to _him_ for something like that. Hopefully. Because that would be _really_ awkward.

"N-No," Amita replied, clearly holding back a sob as she grabbed a tissue out of the box that was on the table and started dabbing at her eyes, then she frowned. "W-Well, yes, he did. B-But not now."

As more tears started to overflow from her wide, dark eyes, Don held up his hands, and shook his head. "Calm down, Amita. Everything's all right, okay?" He waited for her to nod, though she looked as uncertain as he was now starting to feel, the concern he'd been suppressing since he'd talked to his brother a some hours before coming to the forefront of his mind even as he ruthlessly pushed it back, forcing himself to stay calm as he tried to calm her down. "Now tell me what happened. When did Charlie call you?"

"L-Last night, I-I think," the mathematician replied, suddenly reaching into her pocket to pull her cell phone out and hold it out to him. "I-I called my v-voicemail an-and..." she shook her head. "I-I turned my phone off a-after I talked to you! Th-The battery was low, a-and—"

"Hey, hey," Don gently took hold of one of her hands again, and then took the offending cell phone out of her other hand. "I'm sure Charlie won't hold a bad-phone against you. Did he say where he is?"

"N-No." Amita shook her head, her sobs finally seems to let up as her tears abated. Still dabbing at her eyes, she pointed, a bit shakily, towards her phone. "I-I saved the message."

"Can I listen to it?" Don asked patiently, waiting for her to nod and ignoring the look she gave his practical question, "Speed dial #1?"

"If there's a way to reset that, I don't know it." Amita laughed shortly, before hesitantly taking a sip from the water bottle Don had given her.

Don smiled slightly while putting her phone up to his hear and listening to her voicemail pick up.

"_You have, three, old message._.." the automated voice reported, "_First, saved message.'_ BEEP '_Hi, Dr. Ramanujan, this is Kelsey Sm—_"

Don pulled the phone a little away from his ear as the young girl's voice kept going, "How do you skip messages on your phone?"

"It's, uh, nine." Amita murmured, "You hit nine."

Don did so and started listening again as the automated voice told him: "_Second, saved message._' BEEP '_Hello Dr. Ramanujan, this is Lois Tildbury, I was—_" This time an older voice came over the line, but still the wrong one so Don hit 'nine' again. "_Third, saved message.' BEEP..._"

And then all he heard was dead air. The line was definitely still active, but—

Don tensed as a loud noise that he couldn't quite place resounded through the phone's speakers, the small frown that had already settled over his face awhile before now deepened.

Don kept listening as the distinct screech of tires, followed by a louder sound blared through the speaker.

"_Oh God!_" came through next, but his brother's voice was distant and quickly overpowered by that same strange, loud noise again, followed quickly by the sound of squealing tires a few short seconds before he heard his brother yell, "_No!_" This immediately followed by the loud noise again, followed by a much louder version of it.

Don gripped the phone tightly, trying to hear more in the sudden silence that followed, more dead air like before, but somehow quieter. It took him a moment to realize why. The car had stopped! The engine was off.

Had Charlie crashed? He'd barely had his license two months this time. How'd he manage to crash on an easy, fifteen to twenty minute trip that he'd done countless times before, with no traffic and perfect weather?

And if he had, why hadn't anyone contact Don? He _knew_ he was listed as one of Charlie's primary contacts.

Suddenly more sound came through. It almost sounded like someone hitting a punching bag, but too weakly to move it. Again it took Don's mind a moment to make sense of it. Charlie's airbag must have deployed. If Charlie was struggling with the airbag he was conscious and he couldn't be badly hurt, right?

Then the sound of the car door opening was quickly followed by a loud popping sound.

What would Charlie pop the airbag with? Those things were not easy to escape! Maybe he had a pen or pencil handy? That _might_ work.

"_Mmmphh!_" Another, even more muffled sound came through the speaker, then movement again, accompanied by an unfamiliar voice.

"_I got 'im..._"

And then dead air.

Don waited several seconds more, and then a tone echoed through the speaker, followed by the original, automated-voice.

"_End of message. To delete this message, press 7. To save it in the archives, press 9. To hear mo—_"

Don pressed nine and then hung up the phone, finally turning to look at Amita, who seemed to have gotten her tears under control and was watching him hopefully. "Did you—"

"I came here after I f-first heard it," Amita cut in, shaking her head slightly. "I-I couldn't... I couldn't think of anything else to do."

"Okay," Don forced a small smile for her, nodding slightly as his mind flew threw a dozen different scenarios. Obviously Charlie had crashed somewhere last night, but where? And where was he now?

Don pushed aside the worry that his brother might still be in his wrecked car on some back road, telling himself that there wasn't any place within fifteen minutes of the office that someone wouldn't have noticed within the last several hours. Especially since everyone should be on their way to work now. And if Charlie had been in between fifteen minutes from the office, coming from the house, he should have been somewhere LAPD would have spotted easily.

But then why hadn't Don been notified? Why wasn't his dad notified?

Don grimaced as he realized that if the car was really wrecked and Charlie badly injured, he could be a John Doe in one of the LA's many hospitals. Don and his Dad had both caught Charlie forgetting his license before. The genius would be caught up in some math problem or another, just grab his notebook or his laptop and hurry out the door, with his wallet still on the counter. Usually he came back a few minutes later, but some times he didn't notice.

Don clenched his jaw as a dozen possible scenarios raced across his mind.

The unfamiliar voice could have been anyone, but was probably someone pulling Charlie out of the car. If it was dangerous enough to drag him out, he could be badly hurt. Don refused to think about the fact that he could be a dead John Doe in one of those hospitals, quickly shaking it out of his head. He glanced toward the break room door as it opened, to meet David's concerned expression.

"Sorry, guys, but you're kinda holding the coffee hostage in here." David nodded to both of them, before indicating several people waiting—somewhat—patiently outside. He paused a second, then asked, "Everything all right?"

Don shook his head, even as he gently pulled Amita to her feet and towards the door. "No, I don't think it is." He sighed, nodding in apology to the clerks and techs waiting for coffee outside, before jerking his head towards the media room Colby was still looking through his never-ending supply of license plates in. "Let's get Colby, I'll tell you in there."

David's concerned frown deepened, but he nodded, easily falling into place behind the two of them.

_**An Unknown Location**_

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Charlie winced as he felt something tug on one of his feet lightly, then more firmly.

"Dr. Epp—Charlie. Charlie, wake up."

It took him a moment to recognize Bonnie's voice, and a moment more for his still slightly aching head to register what she was saying.

"Come on, Charlie, you want to be awake when they're here."

Charlie forced his eyes open and met hers. She'd again come as close to him as her chain would allow, and was watching his face closely for a moment, before clear relief spread across hers.

"Good. I don't think you want to be sleeping when they come in."

With a glance at the ceiling above them, from which he could hear heavy footsteps resonating through, Charlie nodded. "Yeah, probably not. Thanks."

Bonnie shook her head, while moving back towards her own corner a bit more. "Don't mention it."

"What time is it?"

"I don't know," Bonnie shook her head, frowning slightly. "They usually only come once a day. Sometimes a second time at night. They usually let me wash up in the shower upstairs. They only give me about fifteen minutes in there before they start banging on the door, I've pushed it to twenty before though. But that's only every few days. Most days they just let me use the bathroom, then they leave that thing for the rest of the time," she grimaced, jerking her head towards the bucket in the nearby corner, before shaking her head again. "But they're usually not here this early."

"Is there a window in—?"

"There is a window, but it's way too small to try and climb through," Bonnie told him, before offering a rueful grin. "Not that I didn't try."

Charlie nodded, then stopped and turned towards the room's only entrance as whatever was blocking the opening was pulled partially out of the opening, and one of the men from before—the smaller one—entered. His clothing was different, blue-jeans and a t-shirt, but he was still wearing the ski-mask.

Charlie winced slightly when he noticed one other difference. This time, their smaller—but still bigger than Charlie—captor was carrying a gun.

_**FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California**_

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Don shook his head, sighing as he hung up his phone again. "Well, LA General's sure they don't have him now. Apparently all of their John Doe's are either more than five years too young or twenty years too old. Why the administrator David talked to an hour ago didn't know that is anybody's guess."

"So he's not in any of the hospitals?" Amita asked quietly, drawing the eyes of all three FBI Agents to her. "I-I mean, it sounded like an accident...didn't it?" she asked Don, her dark eyes tired despite the fact it was barely past noon.

"Yeah," Don nodded, the other two agents—having listened to the voicemail themselves before David took it to one of the available techs—also nodded. "That's what it sounded like."

Colby shook his head, "So either he got really, really lost and is still in his car somewhere within an hour's drive of the office—"

"Twenty-minutes," Don cut him off with a frown. "He said fifteen or twenty minutes."

"Well, yeah," Colby agreed with an easy shrug. "But if he got turned around after that we don't know how long or how far he could have driven away before he wrecked."

"We won't until the techs get back to us with the time of the call, at least." David agreed, then glanced at Amita. "Could you use the time to—?" he waived a hand at some of the nearby dry-erase boards. Charlie's boards. Well, they were really the FBI's, but everybody really thought of them as Charlie's.

"Calculate a search area," Amita nodded, looking more hopeful now that she could help. "Yeah, I can do that," then she bit her lip and shook her head slightly, sighing, "Not like Charlie can, but—"

"Just do what you can, K, Amita?" Don cut in gently, shooting her a tired but hopefully warm smile, "I'm sure it'll help."

The smile she shot him in return was just as small and tired but also grateful.

Don nodded, then closed his eyes in thought for a moment, falling back on years of training and experience and hoping that it would be enough. He sighed as he opened his eyes, but paused as he heard a familiar voice in the bullpen, muffled slightly by the media room's closed doors.

"_Donnie!_"

"Dad?" Don frowned, and quickly crossed to the door, knowing the others were undoubtedly following but not particularly caring as he saw his father hurrying towards him from the closing elevator doors. "Dad, what is it?"

"Where is your brother? What happened?!" Alan demanded, his rapid movement across the room and overly-loud, panicked voice drawing a number of eyes, and Don reacted by gently pulling the older man into the media room with his team and closing the door behind him before the question really registered.

"Wait—Charlie?"

"Yes! Where is he?!"

"I—uh, I don't know, Dad." Don shook his head, his frown deepening as he studied his father's panic-ridden form. After less than a second of thought, he quickly reached up and caught the older man's arm again, gently pulling him towards one of the nearby chairs. "Here, sit down."

"No, I don't want to sit down," Alan jerked out of his hold, glaring at him. "That's all everyone keeps telling me is to sit down and keep calm or drink water and keep calm and—I'm not going to be calm until I know where your brother is, Donnie! Where is he?!"

"Whoa, whoa," Don shook his head, sighing slightly as he held his hands up and made calming motion but wisely chose not to say any words to that effect. "Just slow down, Dad. Tell me what happened." He pressed, carefully restraining himself from any further soothing motions as he watched his father's already deep frown deepen.

After several deep breaths, his father finally relented. "The police came—"

"LAPD?"

"Yes, a pair of detectives." His Dad confirmed, shaking his head. "They were asking about Charlie's car—he drives a Toyota, right?"

"Yeah, a Prius." Don confirmed, wondering how his father could be unsure of that bit of information, considering how many times Charlie had tried to walk them through all the data for hybrids and why he chose the one he did. Personally, Don just thought his brother was trying to balance out his SUV. Even as he thought this, though, his heart sank as the possibility of a bad car crash made itself known again.

"Yeah," Mr. Eppes shook his head, "Anyway, they kept asking about his car, and then about you and Charlie's interview and then—after all that they wouldn't tell me anything!"

"Why would the police be—" Amita shook her head in confusion. "No. Wh-Why wouldn't they tell Alan anything? That-that doesn't make sense."

"It does if they think whatever happened to the Whiz Kid could be tied to our investigation," Colby interjected, clearly as uncomfortable with the idea as all of the others were, but pushing forward anyway. "I mean, his interview was played on the news just two nights ago, and they've been replaying clips of it since then."

"So it's not an illogical assumption," David agreed, nodding even as he shot their senior agent a sympathetic glance.

"B-But wh-what happened to him then?" Amita demanded, her eyes clearly starting to shine as though with tears.

David replied before Don, his Dad or Colby could even attempt to. "I think we're about to find out."

Everyone looked at him, and then followed his line of sight through the nearby window that looked out into the bullpen, which they could see the Assistant Director crossing with two LAPD detectives in tow.

_**An Unknown Location**_

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Charlie winced as Bonnie was roughly pushed back into her corner by their armed and masked captor.

"You know the drill, Bonnie."

The reporter sighed, glaring up at the man as she locked the handcuff around her wrist that she'd been given the key for a few short minutes before, and then handed him said key, still glaring.

"Good girl," the thug said, clearly mocking her as his tone was the kind one would use while training a difficult dog. Then he moved back and turned towards Charlie, his gun coming up again as he tossed the key to him. "You saw how it worked, prof. Unbuckle your cuff with that and then you can walk through the door and up the stairs into the bathroom across the hall. You can use the sink and the toilet, whatever, for five minutes. You try anything else, make too much noise or cause any kind of trouble, and we'll have ta hurt you. Got it?"

Charlie drew in a slow breath and nodded, carefully picking up the key that he'd let bounce off his chest a few seconds before, still nervously eyeing the thug's gun.

He didn't like guns. And since the two times he'd been shot at, once by almost-accident and the other time by an actual sniper, he really didn't like one being pointed at him. Though he doubted he would've liked the gun pointing at him even without his close encounters with Nathan Crane and Alec Schane.

He jerked back, grunting as the thug suddenly kicked him in the stomach, making him drop the key and cough several times before looking up at the other man.

"Hurry it up, prof! I don't have all day."

Resisting the urge to glare at the man, Charlie nodded and hurriedly grabbed the key off the ground again, fumbling a moment with getting it in the cuff lock, before turning it and releasing his hand. He then dropped the key and re-cuffed himself, like Bonnie had, and rose slowly, eyeing the volatile man—that was pointing a gun at him—nervously.

The man stepped back again, turning to the side, and jerked his head towards the door. The gun remained aimed at the professor as he said, "Through there. Slowly."

Charlie nodded and moved slowly—as ordered—towards the room's exit, resisting the urges to glance back at Bonnie or their captor repeatedly. As he moved through the opening, he saw that the object they blocked it with was a bookcase that was weighted down by paint tins, cleverly disguising the opening. The rest of the room was all shelves with similar equipment stored on them. He winced again as he was suddenly pushed forward from behind, jarring his abused ribbed as his captor snapped at him again.

"Move it!"

Charlie nodded and looked around, slowly making his way up the stairs. As he reached the top it was only a few steps across to the bathroom.

Before he could be pushed along again, he hurried into the bathroom and slowly closed the door behind him, relieved when his captor let it close all the way, but disappointed to find no lock on the inside. Or more specifically, the that the lock that _had_ been there had clearly been recently removed.

_**FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California**_

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"So he was driven off the road," Don summarized, not really paying attention to the LAPD detectives response as he stared off into the distance, his mind focused on what Charlie might have gone through less then twenty-four hours before, what he might be going through now.

"Our forensics experts are sure of that," Detective Wilson confirmed, nodding firmly. "They picked up an impression of the perps vehicle further back from the car, where we think they stopped to grab him. And we have two sets of footprints. Both from larger boots, they're still working on the exact brand from the tread pattern."

"They'll be sending those to our lab, of course." Assistant Director Merrick spoke up from the seat he'd claimed by the door. "Along with Dr. Eppes' car."

Both LAPD Detectives nodded at the foregone conclusion, but Detective Reynolds was frowning as he pointed out, "There is the possibility that Dr. Eppes' kidnapping has nothing to do with the Parks case."

Merrick spoke up again before anyone else could, "It's possible. But we're going to be investigating that angle nonetheless. And even if it isn't related, Dr. Eppes is a consultant for the FBI, the NSA and many other government agencies."

Both detectives immediately nodded, and this time Wilson spoke up. "Yeah, but your office must be stretched pretty thin with the Parks case as it is—"

"Which is why," Reynolds cut his partner off when he noticed Don's frown, "Our Chief offered to attach us to the case, if additional man-power is needed."

Don opened his mouth to reply, but paused when he saw the look Merrick was sending him, and instead watched his boss nod.

The Assistant Director of the Los Angeles FBI shook his head, "We'll appreciate any and all help the LAPD can offer, of course. At the moment we are short-handed, but our missing Agent is on her way back now," Merrick smiled slightly at the surprised smiles his three agents exchanged at that news. "Yes, I've asked for Agent Reeves to return for at least this case, and the DOJ has agreed to send her back. Your brother has some friends in high places, Eppes," he nodded to the SIC, before shrugging at the younger agent's surprised expression. "After the Chief of Police called me, about an hour before these gentlemen showed up," he nodded to the detectives, "I started making phone calls. The DOJ wasn't even willing to consider my request when I called them, but five minutes after I spoke with AD Thompkin's secretary while he was in a meeting, the DOJ called back to tell me Reeves was on her way and would be here within the next few hours."

Remembering the surprise—and pride—he'd felt when he'd heard that his little brother had consulted on a NSA case high enough up to call Assistant Director Robert Thompkins 'Bob', Don nodded and couldn't suppress a slight smile. His smile faded as he noticed the speculative looks the LAPD detectives were sending him. "The FBI will be leading the case, right?"

Merrick nodded again. "Yes. And I'm going to leave you in charge of the Parks case, but I will personally be overseeing it from this point on. You will not be participating in any of the field work—"

"We still need to check out Parks' home," Don cut in, shrugging when the AD raised an eyebrow at him.

"Sinclair and Granger can handle that," Merrick shook his head. "You're gonna have to get used to working entirely from the office at some point, Eppes. That's what happens as you move up in the Bureau. And it's all I can give you with your family involved. Hell, I probably should have the LAPD take the lead on Dr. Eppes' case, since your whole team and most of the Agents in this office are close to Dr. Eppes. But I'm going to have Agent Reeves take up the roll of acting-SIC in the field and expect to be kept up to date."

"Yes, sir." Don acknowledge with a nod, knowing he'd hate be stuck in the office or the van for the rest of the case, but also knowing that it was the call the Assistant Director had to make. He could have taken Don off the case entirely, possibly even put him on leave until Charlie was found. "Thank you, sir."

Merrick nodded, before raising an eyebrow at him again. "Well, where do we go from here, Agent?"

Don blinked, but then nodded quickly, opening his attention to everyone in the room even as his conference reminded him his father and Amita were still waiting for them in one of the nearby conference rooms. "David, how are you coming on the tips?"

"I finished sorting all of them out, Don. Most of them are worthless, but there are about two-dozen I wanted to check-out. I was going to give them to Charlie, see if he—" David broke off with a shrug and everyone nodded sympathetically.

"Yeah, I was gonna ask for his help on some of these plates, too," Colby admitted, before explaining to the LAPD officers, "Charlie's become our go-to-guy for everything involving math or numbers or—"

Reynolds cut him off, "Yes, we know how helpful Dr. Eppes can be. He's consulted for the LAPD on a number of cases the last few years. Lieutenant Walker started calling him in on some stuff a while back. Then some of the other lieutenant's started calling occasionally it too, so most of us have met him."

"Really?" Don frowned, shaking his head as he wondered why Charlie hadn't told him about something like that. He knew that Charlie consulted for other government agencies and for some big businesses occasionally, but not often enough for a random LAPD detective to know him. Seeing his boss's eyebrow starting to rise again, he turned his attention to Granger. "Colby, any luck with the plates?"

The blond agent shook his head, "Nah, Don. Too many incompletes. I was hoping Charlie might be able to give the techs something for that, but," like his partner a few moments before, he shrugged, spreading one hand in a gesture of helplessness before dropping it.

Don nodded, "Okay, you two," he nodded to his agents, "Can check out Parks' house while Reynolds and Wilson run down some of the tips David flagged. Any questions?"

Merrick nodded when everyone looked at him. "Sounds good. Get to it." As the younger agents and detectives left the room he locked gazes with Don, keeping him there to ask. "And what about your family? Your father and Dr. Ramanujan?"

"Well, technically Am—Dr. Ramanujan's cell phone, her voicemail, is evidence now. So the techs' will have to make a copy of that before we can give it back to her. She was also the last person to see Charlie, as far as we know. Though I might be the last one he talked to. I called his cell when he was on his way in from home."

"And it sounds like that's when he was grabbed," Merrick nodded. "Well, that'll be part of the timeline anyway, which Dr. Ramanujan can help us construct. I believe she's also a fairly skilled mathematician?"

"Yeah, I was planning on calling her and Dr. Fleinhardt in as consultants."

"Very well, you call Dr. Fleinhardt then talk to your father while I brief Dr. Ramanujan, whom you may need to actually interview later." Merrick nodded, rising from his chair even as Don did the same. He stopped before opening the door, looking Don over quickly before meeting his eyes straight on. "Watch yourself on this, Eppes. Give me even the slightest reason to doubt you and I _will_ pull you off the case faster than you can blink, understood?"

Don bit back the angry retort that the idea of losing the case inspired and nodded, "Yes, sir." As he followed his boss out into the bullpen he asked, "Sir? Do you know when Agent Reeves will get here?"

"As I understood it, she should be here very soon, Agent."

Don almost didn't ask, figuring from what he did know about her assignment that he probably wouldn't get a response, but decided to try anyway. "Where's she flying in from?"

"I didn't ask."

_**An Unknown Location**_

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"Time's up! Come on out!"

Charlie winced as his captor's voice shot through the door, and quickly finished washing his hands. It had only taken a few seconds to see that Bonnie was right. The window—even if it hadn't been boarded up—was much too small to escape through. There was nothing he could use as a weapon either. Or anything to dry his hands with. When his captor pounded on the door again, he hurriedly opened it and stepped out, his head slightly bowed as he murmured, "There's no towels."

"What?" the larger man snapped.

Charlie winced again, resisting the urge to back away from the explosive man. "Th-There's no towels t-to dry my hands," he repeated hesitantly, holding said hands up slightly, dripping water on the floor.

His captor rolled his eyes, but stepped back slightly, shaking his head before jerking it to the right. "Walk that way."

Charlie obediently did so, taking the opportunity to look around as he did, but careful to avoid turning his head, keeping it tilted towards the ground, stopping when the man told him to.

"Stop. Face the wall." The bigger man snapped, stepping around behind him as he obeyed. "Don't move."

Charlie watched out of the corner of his eye as his captor went into the nearby room—the kitchen—and then took off in the opposite direction.

_**

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End of Chapter 1: Missing.

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AN: There's the revised Chapter 1!

**Hope you liked it, and would LOVE some constructive criticism!**

**Bye for now! ^_^**

**Jess S**

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NEXT: Chapter 2: Searching.


	3. Chapter 2: Searching

**Disclaimers: Numb3rs belongs to Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci…I think. (NOT me! NEVER me!)  
Summary: What if instead of silencing Dr. Eppes permanently, Bonnie Parks' kidnappers just wanted him out of the way so that the reporter would not be found before they were ready to release her?**

**Warnings: Spoilers for Season 4, Episode 11: "_Breaking Point_", and possibly other episodes that relate ... I can't think of any warnings other than that. If you think of any that I should mention, please let me know!**

**AN: OK, sorry for the wait on this chapter. I really didn't expected it to take this long. :-(**

**Anyway, I DON'T HAVE A BETA-READER FOR THIS FIC, so there may be some rough spots in this chapter. I plan on editing it in the future and reposting, but after reading through the chapter several times myself right now I can't do much more. If anyone would like to become my beta-reader for this fic (which is actually not that much longer), feel free to volunteer. And constructive criticism is always appreciated. **

**As for everyone else: Enjoy! ^_^ **

**Abduction******

By Jess S

**_Chapter 2: Searching_**

**_FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California_**

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"Finally," Don shook his head as his phone rang, glancing at the caller ID before answering, "Yeah, Colby what've you got?"

"_Not much, Don,_" the younger agent sighed. "_Her editor said she didn't do much work in her office, but it seems like she didn't do much here, either. 'Course that fits with what the editor said, too._"

"Yeah?"

"_She called her an 'absolute professional,' and said she was always just about her work._" Colby paused for a second—probably looking around—then continued. "_There's some pictures of her family here, but most of this apartment looks like she hired a designer to set it all up and then never moved or added anything. Doesn't look like she was even here all that often._"

Don sighed, glancing towards the media room where Amita and Larry were talking to two—no, now three—of the techs. Word about Charlie's abduction seemed to have flown around the office. Every desk on this floor was full, all of the other SIC had contacted him some time in the last hour and all the techs they usually worked with were here. Hopefully whatever the techs had gotten from the voicemail would help them somehow. The timeframe for a search area didn't really matter, of course. LAPD had already brought his car in and canvassed the area and the FBI's crime scene techs had already examined everything they possibly could there. "So there's nothing at all about her work? No notes in her desk or computer, videos—"

"_The techs already went through her computer, remember? And no, there's nothing else at her desk. Though there is a copy of Charlie's book on one of the coffee tables._"

"Really?" Don felt one eyebrow shoot up even as a small grin forced its way out.

"_Yeah, small world, huh? Maybe he'll wanna autograph it for her after._"

Don could hear the grin in Colby's voice even as it faded when the junior agent continued more seriously.

"_There are some tapes of her reports, but they're mostly the same ones we already have, plus a couple older ones._" Colby paused for a second, then continued. "_David just talked to the super about her mail. 'Said the LAPD collected all of it last week and had the post office forward it to them. David's on the phone with 'em right now._"

"All right, have 'em send it over an—"

Colby cut him off, "_Actually, it'd be faster if we just pick 'em up ourselves on the way back; we drive right by __there._"

Don shrugged but nodded his agreement, "Fine, whatever works." Seeing his father headed over from the break room with two steaming cups of coffee in hand—the third cup he'd brought Don so far in the last few hours—he sighed, "I've gotta go. Keep me informed, OK?"

"_Will do, boss._"

"Right, bye." Don hung up, sliding his cell phone into the hold he had on his belt before accepting the caffeinated beverage from his father. "Thanks, Dad."

His Dad nodded, before asking the same question he'd asked several times already, "Anything?"

Don sighed again, "We're workin' it, Dad. Why don't you—"

"I'll just see what everyone wants for lunch, then," his father, cut in, turning away slightly before turning back with a raised eyebrow. "Starting with you. What'd you want?"

Don blinked, "Dad, you don't hav—"

"I need to do _something_, Donnie," the older man replied firmly, before adding more softly. "Please."

After a long moment, Don nodded and shrugged. "I don't know. Surprise me." When his father started to turn away, he caught his arm and gently led him towards an empty conference room, feeling something else needed to be said. After closing the door behind him, he sighed, "Sorry, Dad—"

"For what, Donnie?" Alan Eppes shook his head, "You haven't done anything wrong."

That didn't feel true, but Don kept talking anyway. "You know, Dad. After we find Charlie, I'm—" he broke off for a second, something inside him not wanting to continued but he quickly shook it off. "I'm kinda thinking that maybe he shouldn't work for me anymore."

His father shrugged, "Well, I can't say that wouldn't be safer." Then he sighed. "But he likes working with you."

"I know, but—" Don shook his head, trying to grasp what it was that had been bothering him about Charlie working with him as of late. He'd gotten over worrying about his safety after a few years by setting some ground rules that should keep him safe. That'd worked until now. Obviously he was going to have to reevaluate the safety-issue. But it was more than that. "It's more than just safety, you know. I mean, you an Mom, you sacrificed so _much_ for him to do something _great_."

Now his father frowned at him, "And what, you think he's supposed to be doing something better than what you do?"

Don shrugged. Well with all of the special teaching and numerous other advantages Charlie's genius had granted him, wasn't that how it worked? "Yeah."

He'd been expecting his Dad to be thrilled, or at least pleased at the idea of Charlie not working with the FBI anymore. At least then he'd only have one son to worry about getting mixed up in stuff like this. But then again, his Dad had said years before that he'd learn to make his peace with Charlie's involvement. And apparently had, otherwise there'd probably be a lot of anger mixed in with his worry for the youngest Eppes.

"You know, uh," his Dad shook his head. "None of us can tell where Charlie's path to greatness might take him. I mean, even the FBI might be part of it." Then he shrugged, smiling softly, "But like I said, he _likes_ working with _you_. I don't think you can stop him."

Don shook his head again, "I don't know."

His father nodded, while placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Oh, and Donnie. We all made those sacrifices for Charlie. _Especially_ you. You don't have anything to feel guilty about."

After a moment the FBI agent nodded, "I guess," he reluctantly agreed as he turned and opened the door to let his father out with a nod of thanks, before watching the weary older man walk off to start asking—apparently everyone on the floor, hopefully not the whole building—what they'd be having for lunch in an hour or so.

He glanced towards the elevators as he heard the doors slide open again—a part of him a little nervous since the last time he'd looked Amita had walked into the office in tears—but this time a surprised grin crossed his face as his misplaced agent glance around, before catching sight of him and crossing the bullpen towards him.

"Hey, boss."

"Megan," Don nodded, smiling briefly at the one good thing that had come out of this whole situation. "Welcome back."

**_An Unknown Location_**

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Charlie made it all the way to the screen door before he heard the loud, almost-echoing pound of pursuer's footsteps, but his shaking hands weren't able to unlock the door before a thickly muscled arm wrapped around his neck, jerking him backwards to fling him away from the door. The mathematician yelped at a sharp burst of pain in his arm and then again as his airborne course crashed through a table of some kind, effectively arresting his flight before the demolished table—and everything on it, which was thankfully only a few knickknacks and a lamp—collapsed down on top of him.

"You little shit!"

He heard the obviously angry man shout right before a fist slammed into his face, knocking him back against the couch the table had been in front of with another pained-cry. More blows and a few kicks followed, with Charlie trying to escape the worst of them by curling up with his arms over and around his head. Still, the blows landed, drawing out yelps, gasps and whimpers depending upon how much each hurt even as he subconsciously tried to maneuver away from both his attacker—which he really couldn't do—and the shards of the lamp that had smashed after hitting his head and then falling to the floor. Those shard cut into him each time he fell back against them, but he found it was easier to focus on then the focused fury of his pissed off captor.

"Hey!" he heard his angry beater cry out as the blows suddenly stopped, but didn't dare look up even as heard another voice reply.

"Wha' the hell are you doin', S—man? You were just 'sposed ta take him ta the bathroom an' back, same as the bitch!"

"I did!" the first snarled back. "Then the little shit tried to run—"

"Course he did, ya moron! Wouldn't you?"

Charlie looked up to see the second man pushing the first away. He thought these two were the same ones that had 'woken him up' last night, but he wasn't sure. Still, the larger man had technically 'saved' him, though obviously for less than altruistic reasons as he went on.

"Boss doesn' want him dead. You know that. And we didn' sign up for no murder, we're not gettin' paid enough for that." The larger man shook his head, letting out a disgusted sigh that would probably be visible on his face if he wasn't wearing a mask, and waved towards Charlie. "Let's get 'im back in the cellar. We've still gotta clean out the bitch's warehouse some time today."

Charlie cringed away from them as both men turned towards him, the smaller one still radiating explosive fury and the larger, more sensible one clearly angry too. Still, he couldn't avoid there massive hands as they closed around his arms, but he cried out in agony as they started to jerk him to his feet, then gasped when he was dropped back onto the sharp shards of the broken lamp again.

"Ah, man, ya broke his arm!"

**_FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California_**

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Don nodded in thanks as he accepted a BLT sub from his Dad, watching as one was handed to each of the others around the table. A chicken-Caesar wrap to Megan, who was skimming through some of the info they already had on the case. Some kind of beef-subs to Colby and David, who were going through the box of mail they'd picked up a short time before. And another chicken-Caesar wrap for Amita, who was staring at the food his Dad put in front of her but not, he thought, really seeing it.

After a moment he rolled his seat over to the spot at the table right next to her and gently touched her arm, "Amita? You OK?"

The mathematician started, eyes darting over to his before she blinked several times and then nodded. "Y-Yeah. I'm fine. It's just..." she sighed, shaking her head as she looked down at her sandwich. "I just hope he stopped for dinner, at least, last night."

Don nodded in understanding, though he was glad his father had stepped out of the room to bring all the other workers in the office their lunches. "Yeah, Charlie can be a little bad at that."

Amita nodded, but she was frowning as she replied, "Um, I was just th-thinking..." she paused for a second, glancing at her sandwich before looking up again, to hesitantly meet his eyes. "K-Kidnappers... do they usually feed, um, their, um—"

"Victims?" Don suggested his tone gentle, and then sighed when she nodded and shook his head. "Sometimes... There really isn't a 'usual', from what I've seen," he replied, glancing around at the other agents to see them nodding in return.

"But that doesn't mean you shouldn't eat, Amita," Megan told her gently, and all of the other agents nodded again. "We all have to keep our strength up, to help us find Charlie and Bonnie, all right?"

"Y-Yeah, of course," Amita nodded, quickly taking a small bite of her sandwich, shaking her head as she chewed it as little as possible and then swallowed. "What do you need me to do?" she looked like she was shaking her head again as she looked quickly around at everyone else in the room, eyes hopeful.

"Well, we still have those numbers Charlie was going to take a look at," David pointed out, grabbing one of the folders Megan had already skimmed through to hand it to Amita. "Maybe you figure 'em out?"

"Yeah, and Charlie's always thinking up math-stuff to help us, and we'd appreciate anything you can offer in that department," Don told her, raising an eyebrow. "Anything come to mind?"

Amita shook her head. "But I'll take a look at these, I guess."

"And I believe it would be best for me to join that endeavor," Larry spoke up from the doorway, before making his way over to Megan, who rose to greet him.

Everyone smiled slightly as they hugged. Though Colby was shaking his head just as slightly, seemingly forever bewildered by why Megan would want to date Dr. Lawrence Fleinhardt. Don was surprised when they actually exchanged a quick peck on the lips right in front of them, but chose not to say anything as they stepped back from each other and Megan raised an eyebrow, almost daring anyone to comment.

Instead Don caught Amita's arm again, and nodded towards her wrap. "You should finish that, first. Don't want to hurt Dad's feelings."

She smiled sheepishly but obediently took her seat even as Larry wheeled a chair around over to sit next to Megan while she reclaimed her seat. And Larry set his own lunch on the table—a sub from the exact same place all of theirs had come from.

"Yes, Alan seems to have lunch for everyone today, very kind of him."

"Yeah, well," Don shook his head. "Gave him somethin' to do, I guess." Then turning to Megan he raised an eyebrow, seeing as she wasn't only reading the summaries, she'd also gotten the first look at what forensics had so far. "So?"

"Looks like the techs were able to identify most of the sounds in the voicemail. And they've got the perp's—or at least one of the perps'—voice for comparison, but there really isn't any way to get a positive ID with that." Megan set that file down, nodding to Amita as she did so, before picking up another file. "Like LAPD said, forensics found traces of chloroform in Charlie's car, as well as a little blood on a steering wheel."

"I thought the airbag deployed?" Amita protested softly and Megan nodded again.

"It did, so he must have hit his head before the major crash, maybe when they were rear-ending him. The airbag deployed when he hit the tree, which stopped the car."

"Makes sense," Don nodded before shaking his head, not liking any of the images that the analysis provoked. He shot another glance at his brother's girlfriend and frowned at the pained expression on her face. "Amita? You OK?"

After a moment, Amita started to nod—then changed to shaking her head—but finally decided on nodding. "Yeah, I..." then she shook her head. "I just can't believe we teased him."

The two FBI agents blinked at her and glanced at each other before turning fully back to the troubled consultant.

"What? Charlie?" Don demanded, softening his tone when Megan lightly kicked his ankle, but still keeping an intense stare fixed on the Amita as she almost flinched at the question and then nervously brushed a few long, dark strands of hair out of her face before replying.

"Larry and I. We really thought Charlie was just being paranoid, but I knew that the truck had really bothered him an—"

"What truck?" Megan asked gently, before Don could demand more heatedly.

"Th-The one the night before last, that scared him?" Amita's reply was hesitant, and soft enough that both FBI agents had to lean towards her to hear all of it. "Larry and I teased him about it yesterday morning, but now that I think about it, it'd probably worry me too."

"_What truck?_" Don snapped the question, his big-brother instincts coming to the forefront of his mind again—not that they had all that far to go, since Charlie had just been taken, bringing them to high, barely ignorable alert—at the thought of someone scaring his brother even before the kidnapping.

Amita stared at him for a moment, shaking her head before she murmured softly, "…H-He didn't tell you?"

**_An Unknown Location_**

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Charlie moaned as he tried to move into a more comfortable position. Problem was, if there was a comfortable position possibly on this cold floor—easily felt through the too thin pad he'd been given to sleep on—he certainly couldn't find it. Especially with his hands handcuffed together when his arm was still screaming sporadically and bits of porcelain still digging into his back.

Thankfully, his captors' initial thoughts on his injured arm had been wrong. It definitely wasn't broken. But something had been sprained or pulled or... something. Cause it hurt a lot more then the rest of his body, which wasn't in good shape either.

"Here," Bonnie murmured softly, sliding a hand under his neck by his shoulders to help him sit up as she held an open water bottle towards him. "Drink this."

In a small show of mercy their kidnappers had decided to place Charlie closer to Bonnie, giving her the freedom to look after him more easily. Though more cruelly instead of chaining his relatively unhurt arm to the nearby pipe they had Bonnie chained to, they'd cuffed his hands together, putting pressure on his hurt arm and thereby ensuring he was in a state of constant pain.

Obediently, Charlie edged himself up until he was sitting upright enough to drink and let Bonnie pour small sips of water into his mouth, closing his eyes at the small amount of relief that the feel of the—not cool, but at least wet—liquid flowing down his throat provided. He opened them again when she took the bottle away and let him lie back.

"Sorry," the reporter shrugged, shaking her head as she put the cap on the bottle and twisted it closed. "But we've gotta ration this, remember?" she glanced nervously at the three small paper bags on the floor.

Charlie blinked, "Three—"

Bonnie cut him off gently, "They didn't leave a new bag for you," she murmured, thinly veiled disgust in her voice as she shook her head. "Guess they didn't think beating you was enough."

Charlie nodded slightly, sighing as he closed his eyes for a moment. She was right, he knew. Especially about the water. He was experienced enough as a hiker to know that dehydration could be a very, very dangerous thing. And he was pretty sure it was a recognized fact that the human body could go without food for a fairly long period of time, but the time you could go without water was significantly shorter.

"How 'bout we play a game?" Bonne suggested after several moments of silence, her quiet words almost echoing in the chilly, barely lit room.

Charlie felt a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow in amusement, "A game?"

"Yeah, how 'bout...anywhere but here?"

Charlie almost choked on a surprised laugh, "Seems appropriate. OK, you first."

"Why do I have to go first?"

"Your idea."

Bonnie chuckled slightly, shaking her hair swinging from side to side as she slowly shook her head. After a few more moments of thought, she shrugged. "I probably couldn't paint myself as more of a workaholic if I tried, but honestly I'd like to be working."

"At your office?"

"No," she shook her head again. "No. I don't do any work at my office at CNN, except occasionally for interviews when I really need to sell the 'this is going on the news' to get anything for the story."

Charlie chuckled softly, but otherwise remained silent as she continued.

"I, uh, I don't do my work at home either. Actually, I really don't spend much time at my apartment at all. Most of the time I'm working in the warehouse district. I rented a warehouse there and refurbished it as workplace."

"Why?"

The reporter shrugged, "Because I've always been paranoid, although," she grimaced, eyeing their surrounding. "Considering our current accommodations, I suppose I shouldn't call it paranoia. You're not paranoid if they're really out to get you."

"No," the mathematician agreed quietly, before gently prodding. "So you do all your work there?"

"Yeah. Most of the time. I find it easier to write there. Maybe even just to think." Bonnie shrugged. "Every breakthrough I've had—that was dependent upon my own intuition, at least—happened there." Suddenly the reporter chuckled, before shrugging when Charlie raised an eyebrow again in curiosity. "Most of my breakthroughs tend to happen late at night, too. Between eleven PM and one in the morning, I think." She arched an eyebrow—that was either naturally very elegantly shaped or simply hadn't lost it's elegant shape since she'd first been captured—back at him, "What about you?"

"When do I have, um, 'breakthroughs'?" Charlie frowned slightly in thought, before shaking his head slowly. "I don't know. I've never really noticed a pattern." Then he shrugged sheepishly. "Of course, when I'm really focused on something I don't stop working on it until it's done. So I guess the timing of the breakthrough may be dependent upon whenever I started working on the problem."

"Makes sense," Bonnie nodded, sighing. "Though I really haven't had any major 'breakthrough' moments since college."

Charlie frowned at her, "But you've had dozens of—"

"Stories for the news, yeah. Non-fiction." Bonnie shook her head. "It doesn't write itself and it takes plenty of work but..." she waved one of her hands around before dropping it to her side again. "Doesn't take quite as much creativity."

"You write fiction too?" The mathematician asked, wondering why that small fact hadn't been part of her profile. It was probably irrelevant, but then again techs that gathered the data for his algorithms had gotten used to including the most obscure facts to give him more data to work with.

But Bonnie shook her head, "Not anymore. I used to, in college." She shrugged. "A few short-stories and poems. Started a novel that's sat—half-finished—in a safe-deposit box for almost four years now." She stopped, staring at the ground for several heavy moments of silence.

Finally Charlie broke it, "Why'd you stop writing it?" he asked quietly, then almost winced reflexively when he saw her wince.

Bonnie shook her head again, "I-I started writing it for—Clay talked me into it. Said with all the stories I used to tell when we'd go on camping trips I should have at least one fantasy-book on the shelves. A-After he d-died..." She shrugged and sighed as she finished. "I just couldn't write any more. Least not in that book."

"...I'm sorry."

Bonnie shook her head, wiping at her eyes for a moment even though no tears had fallen from her eyes. Almost like she thought she was crying but had no tears to do so. "Thanks, Charlie. But it's hardly your fault." The smile she shot him now was sad, even as she changed the subject. "So what's your brother like?"

Charlie blinked, "What?"

"Your brother and his 'team'? You mentioned them earlier." She shrugged slightly, "Talking about your friends'd probably be more uplifting then anywhere but here."

**_FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California_**

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Don sighed as Amita drew to a tentative close with all of the agents eyes on her.

"So that was a silver pick-up with fog lights and some bodywork, right?" Colby summarized, rising and making his way over towards the monitor with the parking garage security tapes when Amita nodded.

"Ya got something?" Don asked, watching the tape zoom back to just before Bonnie entered before stopping and then moving slowly forward.

"One second," Colby replied, staring intently at the monitor. A little under three minutes—on the tape, according to the recording—he stopped, and everyone stared at the vehicle. "Something like that, right?"

"Well," Megan sighed, shaking her head, "I think it's safe to tell the AD that the cases are definitely connected now."

Don closed his eyes for a moment in silent grimace before opening them again, shaking his head, "Why would they grab Charlie?"

"They saw his interview," David murmured, taking a big bite of his sub, chewing quickly and swallowing before continuing. "Knew he was workin' the case."

"Yeah, and he's an easy target," Colby pointed out, shrugging apologetically when Don glared at him. He started sorting through his half of the mail again even as he finished, "Doesn't shoot back."

"Yeah," Don agreed with a sigh, shaking his head as his eyes went to the offending vehicle on the screen. "Got any plates for that?"

"No," Colby shook his head. "The bodywork obscures them from the camera's sight," he pointed out a bit unnecessarily as they could all see that in the picture. "And I can go back and check, but I've watched the half-hour before and the half-hour after Bonnie arrived pretty closely. I'm pretty sure the rear plates were hidden by glare because of the car behind 'em when they came in. Hey," he held up two envelopes. "She gets two power bills," he put one down on the table, "that ones for her apartment, but this ones for an address down in the warehouse district."

"Think that could be where she actually works?" David caught on, stuffing the rest of his sub into his mouth as he rose.

Don rose also after finishing his sandwich, suppressing a smirk when Megan shot him a glare as she was only half-way though hers. "It's worth checking out. What's the address?"

Colby glanced at the envelope, "It's 819 Third Street, number 104."

"OK, let's check it out. See ya Amita, bye Larry."

Megan shook her head as she followed them to the elevator, hitting the button for the parking the garage and letting the doors close before she said anything else. "Aren't you stuck to a desk?"

Don shrugged, "We're not going for any arrests—"

"Still, Don—"

Don rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll stay in the car until the scene is secure. Alright?"

He saw Megan roll her eyes, but apparently that was enough of a concession for her, which was good cause that was all she was getting.

They'd only worked a few cases without her since she went to work with the DOJ and he'd actually forgotten just how easily she could manipulate the rest of them with just the right words from an agent's angle, or worse a psychological perspective. From the half-smirks that Colby and David were trying to wipe from their faces, they hadn't.

**_An Unknown Location_**

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Charlie couldn't suppress a grimace as he was finally able to lean back against the cold cement wall. They'd spent nearly five minutes slowly struggling into this position, and he hadn't wanted to eat anyway. His stomach was already in aching knots, and the sight of the half a sandwich Bonnie held out to him didn't help in that regard. "Is this really—"

"Charlie," Bonnie shook her head as she gently grabbed his uninjured hand and turned it slightly to set the proffered food in it. "We've already been through this, remember? You _have_ to eat."

With a sigh, he obediently brought the sandwich up to his mouth, slow and careful so as to avoid jarring his injured arm. He hadn't bothered looking at the label, and didn't really care what kind of sandwich it was anyway. Like Bonnie said, he had to eat it either way. But he thought it might be tuna. Very, very dry tuna-salad. He wasn't sure, but that was kind of what it tasted like. The ham and cheese one he'd had earlier was better, but that might've been because it was fresher.

"What'd you think we're eating?" Bonnie asked after a few moments of mindless munching.

Charlie sighed, "Tuna, I think."

"Huh, I was gonna go with chicken salad."

Charlie took another bite of his, actually taking the time to role the none-too-tasty substance around on his tongue before swallowing and shaking his head. "Nope. This is tuna, chicken's a little more bland." He frowned at the sandwich. "Doesn't stuff like mayonnaise go bad if it's not refrigerated?"

"They're not _that_ old, Charlie," Bonnie chuckled softly, and he saw a small smile had found its way onto her face again when he glanced at her. "Though you're right, they'll only be good for a few days." Her smile disappeared in favor of a small grimace. "Which means we'll probably have to eat through the sandwiches first, and ration the crackers later."

"Makes sense," the mathematician nodded. "How many—"

"We still have our old bags and one new one. I ate one-and-a-half of my old sandwiches and you ate one of yours. So—"

"We have six-and-a-half sandwiches. And how many of the peanut butter crackers?"

"Twelve packets altogether."

"Seventy-two crackers." Charlie nodded, his mind immediately responding with all the relevant stats. "So we can stretch the sandwiches out to a little over two days if you want to have half-a-sandwich at each meal. Then we'll have the crackers, but what about water?"

Bonnie sighed, "We still have two of your bottles and four from my bags," she wetted her lips nervously before hesitantly asking, "Do you know h-how much—?"

Charlie winced, closing his eyes as he sighed. "I think it's s-something like three-liters' a day is the minimum on average*. How much is in the bottles?"

"One liter...A-Are you sure we can't stretch it more than that?" the reporter asked, obviously not thinking it was necessary to point out that they only had enough water for one day, if they followed the three-liter standard.

The mathematician still didn't feel like opening his eyes as he replied, "I-I think we'll h-have to let our bodies decide that."

"What? Just drink if we're thirsty, no ratios or—"

"No. Just drink sparingly when you're thirsty."

After several seconds of silence Bonnie sighed. "OK. But you still have to finish your lunch."

Now Charlie did open his eyes, to smile slightly as he glanced at her hands. "You too."

**_819 Third Street, Los Angeles, California_**

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Don nodded as Megan pointed out there destination. "I see it Megan," he smirked and jerked his head towards his GPS. "The GPS does, too. And I'm pretty sure David and Colby know, too, since they're ahead of us and slowing down."

"Sorry," Megan rolled her eyes, sounding amused.

"Glad to be back?" Don asked with a grin.

"Yeah," the profiler immediately replied, smiling warmly. Before shaking her head. "I hate the fact that Charlie was taken, of course, but—" she sighed. "This is what I joined the FBI for, so it's nice to be here again."

"DOJ job not that great?"

Megan was quiet for a long moment, a dark shadow crossing through her eyes in that moment, but she nodded as it faded away. "No, it's not."

"You know when they're gonna want you back?"

"If I had my way, _never_," she shook her head, long hair swaying gently back and forth. "But that didn't work to well for turning them down the first time, so," she stopped with a shrug.

Don turned a concern look towards her, "The AD said it was a good assignment."

Megan snorted, "The AD doesn't know anything about it." Then she was frowning at something outside. "_Shit_."

Don glanced towards the door that they were coming for and immediately saw the problem. The door was open and three men were coming out, the two in front carrying storage boxed full of paper. His hand turned his sirens on, almost of its own accord even as David and Colby—already out of their car—closed in on the trio.

"_Stay in here,_" Megan snapped at him, before flinging her door open as he stopped the SUV and had to watch, lips tightly pursed in anger as he knew he had no choice but to obey.

As the man without a box drew a gun, Don's hand flew to his own, but he knew he couldn't get out of the car. He'd get kicked off the case.

So he could only watch as two of the three men dropped their boxes and fled while the third member of their group covered their retreat. One of Colby's bullets—it could've been David or Megan's, but he thought Colby had had a better angle—dropped the shooter.

But a moment later Megan turned and waived towards him and he resisted the urge to punch something even as he hit his phone's 'call' button to call the situation in.

They'd gotten away.

**_An Unknown Location_**

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Charlie frowned, shaking his head slightly as he twisted the cap of his water back on as tightly as he could before setting it aside. "What'd you mean?"

Bonnie laughed and shook her head, smiling just as slightly. "It's not a hard leap in logic, doctor. I'd think it be even easier for you then me—since you're a professional logician, right?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"But you're not too keen on analyzing yourself," the reporter cut in, still smiling as she continued. "That doesn't mean you can't analyze yourself though. So that's what your afraid of, right? You're worried that Don'll shut you out again."

Charlie started, "He didn't shut me out before. He—"

"At the very least stopped talking to you for a considerable length of time," Bonnie shook her head. "I'm sure it wasn't entirely deliberate, of course. Distance, work and life in general undoubtedly all played their parts, but when it came down to it, between when the two of you left for college and his return of LA—more than a decade later—how many times did he call you."

Charlie opened his mouth to respond, half-expecting the correct number to just pop out, but paused as he realized he actually wasn't sure. After a moment he sighed, "I talked to him a few times a month in college."

"He called you?"

Charlie's eyes closed. "No," he murmured softly. "No, he was usually calling for mom. Sh-She went to Princeton with me, for the first three years."

Bonnie nodded in understanding, "And how many times did he call you in your fourth year of school?"

The genius winced, "Once or twice." He shrugged, "I was busy though. And I've never been good about checking my messages or keeping my phone charged. S-So he could've called some other times, too." Then a smile shot across his face as a memory deigned to reveal itself. "He called me when he got into Quantico."

"When was that?"

"Almost two years after he graduated. He kept playing for the Stockton Rangers, then he..." Charlie shook his head. "I don't know what happened, really. He just decided he wanted to be an FBI agent, so he quit baseball—I always thought he loved playing—and then he joined the Bureau."

Bonnie shook her head, grinning slightly. "Maybe he thought it was time to stop playing. Maybe he wanted to make a difference in the world. Or maybe he just wanted to play with more dangerous toys," she shrugged. "Could be a story there, though."

Charlie started, and quickly shook his head despite the pain the rapid motion caused, "Bonnie, you can't write—"

"Relax, _mon ami_," the reporter shook her head, smiling gently. "I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn't let my work hurt innocent people. And I certainly don't want to hurt a..." she trailed off and looked away suddenly, biting her lower lip.

The mathematician frowned slightly at her, staring in consideration before he decided on finishing her sentence, "A friend?"

**_819 Third Street, Los Angeles, California_**

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"…Yeah. It's eight-nineteen, East-Third." Don repeated for the third time as he watched his team members shuffle through the boxes the men had tried to steal out of the warehouse.

"_Roger that, Agent. CSI's on its way and LAPD has started sweeping the area._" The operator he'd caught replied. "_LAPD is looking for the white-truck._"

"Great, thanks." Don replied shortly before hanging up, still unhappy at their failure to apprehend the three men: though one of the would-be-thieves was dead. He shook his head and nodded towards the boxes, "Anything?"

"This guy's gone," David commented from the other side of the fence he'd climbed over a few moments before, shaking his head as he rose from checking his pulse.

Colby sighed, then shrugged as he pulled the lid off another box, "You know, I'm pretty sure I wounded a second one of those guys."

"I think so too," Megan murmured, though her eyes remained fixed on the papers she was sorting through. "CSI'll have to look for blood spatter down there."

Don nodded, frowning as he eyed his team mates, "And you're all right? You're good?" he nodded again after receiving quick nods from all three agents while David climbed back over the fence. "Anybody get a plate-number for their—"

"I couldn't see it at my angle," Colby cut in, "but that was definitely the truck from the video."

"You sure?" Don frowned, one fist clenching in further frustration at the perps' flight.

"And the one Amita described," Megan nodded in agreement, then sighed as she shook her head at the pages of used line paper she'd been sorting through. "Well I can't make heads or tails of this. It's just more of those numbers."

"Well Charlie always says that more data is a good thing, right?" David shrugged, shaking is head at the numbers before his eyes went back to the newspaper clippings he was sorting through as he continued, "Maybe it'll help Amita and techs decode it."

"We can always hope," Don agreed, before shaking his head to kneel down next to his agents, hoping his earlier, useless hovering hadn't been too irritating before dismissing the thought. "These guys were clearing out Bonnie's workplace, so—"

"So they're probably working for whoever she was investigating," David interrupted with a nod towards the newspaper clipping he'd been looking at. "She's got a lotta stuff on this guy, Richard Taylor."

"Richard Taylor?" Colby frowned, shaking his head. "He's a big real estate developer, right?"

"Yeah," Megan immediately confirmed. "Actually he's been in the news a lot lately. Wants to start a big development for the city."

"Looks like he's who she was investigating, then," Colby commented, before frowning as something in his box caught his eye and he reached down to pull it out quickly. "Wait a minute, this guy's one of the guys that just pull off in the truck?"

"You sure?" Don frowned, scrutinizing the photo.

"And that's Taylor!" Megan pointed out, pointing to one of the pictures in the news articles David was going through.

Colby nodded in agreement before answering Don's question, "Yeah, I'm positive." He confirmed with a frown. "He's the one that started shooting first."

"Yeah," David agreed. "He was in the middle. Drew his gun behind the box he was carrying," he finished, pointing to the smallest crate, which Megan was still sorting through.

Don's frown somehow managed to deepen as he took the photo from Colby's unresisting hand, "Looks like we'll be talking to Taylor soon, then."

Megan frowned at him as she set her useless—to their eyes at least—pages of numbers back down in the box and put it's lid back on before rising, her head shaking. "One of _us _will talk to Taylor, Don," she said, waving a hand to indicate Colby or David. "You can't. We're probably giving his defense attorneys too much to work with by your involvement in the investigation anyway, _you can't_ interrogate Taylor."

"She's right, Don," David pointed out unnecessarily, while Colby nodded in agreement.

Don sighed and shook his head, his jaw clenching as he called on all his training to push back the furious-big-brother in him to let the experienced-agent maintain control. "I know."

Megan stared at him for several long seconds before she nodded to the other two agents, "You guys check-out the warehouse, Don and I'll take care of these," she finished, indicating the boxes.

Both of the junior agents nodded, dropping the papers they'd been holding back into their respective boxes before rising quickly to move towards the warehouse door.

Don watched them go, wanting to follow but again knowing that he really couldn't. So instead he grabbed one of the lids to seal the boxes up, while Megan did the same. Then he pulled his car-remote out of his pocket, hitting the button that made the back of the SUV open automatically before taking Megan's box, which was slightly smaller than the other two, and set it on top of his before taking hold of the lower boxes handles as he rose to move it into his SUV while Megan followed with the third box.

The way this case was going now, if they didn't find Charlie—and Bonnie, but it was Charlie's kidnapping that effected the agent personally—soon, Don would almost definitely be completely removed from the case. He knew his team wouldn't want to, but it was getting harder and harder to push big-brother back. And all it would take was a second of lost control to loose the case. Which was probably why the team's profiler was still studying him, her eyes intent.

"You OK?" Megan asked, and he knew that she wasn't fishing for how he was handling everything personally. She was doing her job and making sure he was still able to do his.

"Yeah," Don replied firmly, hoping that was enough to satisfy her for now. And hoping that he was right about himself as he slid the crates into the back of his SUV, waiting till Megan had done the same before closing the door. Then he suppressed a sigh of relief as several familiar vehicles—SUVs and cars similar to the ones he and his teammates drove, fed cars—turned onto the street.

Megan's gaze remained intent on his face for several more moments as the other cars stopped around them, before she turned her attention to another approaching agent.

Don'd have to remember to be extra nice to the CSI guys for a while. A long while.

**_An Unknown Location_**

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Charlie smiled, resisting the urge to shake his head as he knew it'd certainly make his hurting head go from a dull, persistent ache to sharper, throbbing pain again. "Friends are a good thing to have, Bonnie. That's why you read my book, right?"

Bonnie chuckled, "Yeah, I guess. Though I was kinda hoping for some help in the dating department too."

Charlie blinked, unable to keep an eyebrow from rising as he gave the slightly younger woman a quick once over. "I wouldn't think that'd be a problem for you."

Even after more than a week in these horrible conditions and all of the stress, lack-of-nutrition and whatnot associated with their captivity, Bonnie was still a very pretty woman. Of course, he was probably a bit biased. For one thing, he was in much worse shape then she was, she was also the only friendly face around here and she reminded him of Amita. It wasn't just that both women shared dark black hair and pretty smiles though. They shared the level of intensity, of focus, that Charlie often found himself drawn to. It was a characteristic that he knew he had in spades and often handicapped him, as most women wouldn't tolerate being ignored or their date being distracted by random patterns or a sudden break-through in his work.

"Getting a date, yeah," Bonnie shrugged. "It's the long-term relationships I have trouble with." She sighed and shrugged again. "Like I said earlier, I really get caught up in my work. So I could easily go weeks at a time without any real desire to date, which most guys don't consider girlfriend-material. Not the ones that actually want to commit to that, anyway."

Charlie sighed in agreement, "Yeah, I have trouble with that too. That's why I've mostly only dated women with PhDs. They tend to understand more."

"Tried that. Dating a doctor, I mean." Bonnie grimaced. "It was only about three months before I first suspected he was seeing someone else. Turns out he'd been dating a bunch of the nurses at his hospital on and off in my absence." She shook her head, "The sleazebag didn't even seem to get that I wouldn't like what he was doing."

The mathematician closed his eyes for a moment in sympathy, barely keeping himself form shaking his head again. "Well, I guess it might take you more work to find someone worth dating. I mean, all of the women I've dated since I got my PhD are women I met through work." Then he frowned, "Well, actually one was someone my mom tried to set me up with, but that didn't work."

"Why not?"

Charlie grimaced, "She was a really nice girl and very pretty, but we really didn't have much to talk about."

"Yeah, I'm OK with talking, obviously," Bonnie shook her head. "It's the long stretches of work, when I'm not really interested in talking, that are the problem." She sighed a little sadly then, "It was a little different when my parents and brother were still around. My mom and dad set me up with a few good dates, and my brother put the fear of God—or at least of my little-brother-who's-in-the-army—into most of them, so cheating wasn't an issue."

"Have you tried any of those dating-services?"

The reporter grimaced again. "I've investigated some of those services, but yeah I've tried a few times," she shrugged. "Still, the first few dates were great but they didn't work out long-term either." After a moment of silence she shook her head before deliberately changing the topic again. "So what'd you think your friends are up to now?"

Charlie blinked, and then smiled slightly. "I know they're working hard to find us. Both of us."

**_FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California_**

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Don shook his head in frustration, "You really couldn't get anything out of him?"

"All we have is a picture of him talking to a man that may be our perp on a crowded street, Don," Megan reminded him, sighing. "It's not much to threaten him with. We definitely can't arrest him for that. And he knows it."

"Yeah," Colby agreed with a nod as the trio made their way towards the media room where David was still talking with a few of the techs. "He all but rubbed our faces in it."

Megan nodded, "He's not going to be winning anything with that personality, that's for sure." Then she sighed again. "But he's not a sociopath. Just your typically sleazy-businessman with ties to crime."

"Hey guys," David nodded to them as the disgruntled trio entered the media room while the two techs he'd been talking to left. Then he winced at they're expressions, "The meeting with Taylor was that bad, huh?"

Colby shook his head quickly, "Not even worth talking about unless you want to listen to useless complaints."

"Well, the tech department put together some information on the guy." David shook his head, "But we still don't have any idea what those numbers are."

"Amita and Larry—"

David cut Don off, "Are still working on them, with most of the techs backing them up." He shook his head, "But no luck so far."

Don sighed, then nodded towards the TV screen that had an image of Taylor smirking smugly at them while leaning over some kind of model. "What else have you found?"

"His firm's working on a big project. It's a redevelopment with just about everything they can cram into and it makes Taylor look like a big hero to the city. Bringing a revenue center to a formally blighted area."

"But Bonnie Parks doesn't see him that way?" Colby guessed and David nodded again.

"Yeah, she's been talking mostly with the poor local residents who've all been forced out to make room for the development, and they've been terrorized by thugs—"

"Taylor's criminal ties," Megan interjected, frowning at the picture of their head-perp. "He forced them to sell?"

"Isn't kidnapping Parks and then grabbing Charlie too kind of overboard for this sort of thing though?" Don shook his head, firmly keeping 'big-brother' under lock and key to keep his experience as an agent in charge. "I mean, these things get some kind of bad press all the time, don't they?"

David nodded again, "Yeah, but if Bonnie timed it right she could ruin the whole thing. Because his projects not free and clear yet," he opened one of the files on the nearby computer, bringing up a news article on the screen. "He's still waiting on a vote from the zoning commission."

"So he can't afford any organizes opposition to his project," Megan realized with a nod.

Colby also nodded, "Especially not bad press. If Bonnie does this exposé and shows what Taylor's been up to—"

"It gets voted down," Don nodded. "And he looses the bookoo bucks."

"So now we have motive," Megan commented and David nodded again.

"The problem is, if Bonnie had any kind of proof, it's not here," he told them, gesturing to the boxes the thugs had tried to steal from Bonnie's warehouse.

After several moments of silence Don nodded and gestured towards another display, where the morgue-shot of the guy Colby had taken out was on display. "We're working this guy, right?"

"Yeah. The techs and forensics are going over him now," David confirmed. "Haven't IDed him yet." But then again they'd only shipped the body down to forensics a little while ago.

"And Amita and Larry are still working the number streams," Colby pointed out, shaking his head. "I mean, there has to be something to them, right? We've seen her work. She wouldn't have made those lists if they weren't important. I mean, she's too deliberate and focused for that." David and Don both nodded in agreement, but Megan was watching the younger agent with a knowing-look, and Colby frowned at her. "What?"

The profiler immediately shook her head, "Nothing. You're right."

Don was fairly sure he didn't want to know what was going through the female agent's head. Especially since she seemed to be analyzing Colby, which was better than her analyzing Don himself but he didn't really want to know what was going through the younger agent's head if it wasn't relevant to the case. After a moment, Don shook his head again and sighed. "Well, I'll go check up on Amita and Larry then. Keep working this?"

Megan raised an eyebrow at him, but nodded in agreement while David did the same and Colby replied with his semi-typical, "Yeah, boss."

**_An Unknown Location_**

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Charlie frowned as the familiar sound of the front door banging open came through the floor, followed by many pairs of feet moving quickly through the house as the door slammed shut behind them. He looked at Bonnie, "I thought—"

"They've never come for a third visit in one day," the reporter confirmed, her blue eyes fearful as she looked at him before her eyes went back to the ceiling and then to the entryway to their room as footsteps pounded down the basement stairs. She did, however, quickly move to help him sit up again as he started struggling.

Then both of them watched warily as the bookcase that blocked the entryway was moved back and four masked men—different from any of the ones they'd seen before, he thought—came in.

One of the men, apparently the leader since he was issuing orders, pointed at Bonnie. "Get her."

Charlie couldn't help but flinch back as the other three men moved towards them, despite the fact that they were apparently intent on Bonnie.

"Wait, wha—" Bonnie's question was cut off with a cry as one of the large men struck her, sending her tumbling to the side before the cuffs that bound her to the overhead pipe brought her flight to a jarring stop.

"Shut up, both of you," one of the men—the one that had just hit her—snarled.

"But—"

"Just gag her already," the leader cut Bonnie off, his order also saving her from being hit again.

Instead her abuser pushed her back against the wall and, after catching the roll of duct tape the leader threw at him, used it to tape her out shut before he handed the tape off to one of the men that had pushed Charlie further away from Bonnie.

"Him too," the leader confirmed

The mathematician shook his head, ignoring the burst of pain that sent through his head as he desperately asked, "Where are you—"

He cried out as his question was also cut off with a blow to the face. By the time he had blinked back the starts the blow had made him see a few moments later, his mouth had been sealed by a layer of the rough, sticky material. Just before a bag—made of some kind or rough, dark material that he couldn't see through—was slipped over his head. The mathematician choked on a pain filled gasp as his captors ignored his obvious injuries and started half-carrying, half-dragging him somewhere.

"Just leave him there, an' get the girl up into the truck." the leader snapped, and Charlie was abruptly dropped partially onto one of the mats, partially onto the cold cement floor.

Charlie could hear Bonnie struggling faintly, but couldn't help flinch back again as he heard one of the men approaching him again.

He found out a moment later that it was the leader, as though the man's tone had changed to one of mild amusement, his voice was easily recognizable. "Don't worry, Doc, Miss Parks. The Boss just wants you two separated: just for insurance. Who knows, Boss gets his way and you two might just see each other in the light of day."

Then the men were moving away, and Charlie heard the terribly familiar sound of the bookcase being slid back into place. The men pounded up the stairs again, and a few seconds later the front door open and slammed shut behind them.

And Charlie was left there.

Tied up, gagged, blinded, hurt, a little hungry, thirsty and alone.

**_FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California_**

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Don shook his head as his brother's two brilliant colleagues continued to argue back and forth, knowing that the stress of the situation in general compiled on top of not nearly enough sleep or breaks in general was making everyone a little more bad-tempered then they otherwise might be. And unlike the FBI agents and even the techs to some degree, the math consultants weren't trained to handle this kind of stress. "Guys—"

Larry apparently wasn't paying any attention to the FBI agents he was supposed to be explaining their work to, despite the fact that he was dating one of them. But his attention was completely focused on Amita. "A downturn analysis—"

"Won't tell us anything, Larry," Amita cut him off, following the same format the two mathematicians' arguments had followed for several minutes now. "We don't know _what_ we're analyzing, so—"

Don shot a glance at Megan, raising an eyebrow as she smirked but nodded to him. So at least he wasn't the only one that was pretty sure the geeks were wasting time talking in circles. "_Guys!_" he snapped, calling on years of working as a supervisor for classes of training agents and supervising actual FBI teams to put just the right amount of force in his tone to avoid being ignored.

Sure enough, both scientist jumped at the abrupt and loud distraction. And both turned to look at him with wide eyes.

"We know this has to have something to do with Taylor, right?" Megan suggested mildly.

Amita nodded but sighed as she replied, "But we've looked at the all of the numerical data the techs have been able to find on his development project."

"And unfortunately our mysterious list does not seem to correlate with any such data," Larry nodded in agreement.

A knock on the clear doors made all four turned abruptly towards said door, to see David pushing it open. "Hey guys, we finally found Colby's dead guy."

"Yeah?" Don couldn't suppress a small grin, glad to have a possible, useable break after so many dead-ends. And listening to Larry and Amita, who were apparently completely lost—or as Larry had called it "at an impasse"—hadn't helped. He nodded to the two professors, smiling slightly at their hopeful looks as he followed Megan out of the room. "Keep trying, guys, all right? We'll be back in a few." After carefully closing the door behind him he quickly crossed the room to the media room David and Colby had holed up in to search for their leads. "So?" he asked, frowning slightly when he saw Granger was nowhere to be found despite an apparent new lead.

"Don't know why it took forensics to get to this, they said they working on something else, but—" David shook his head a bit disgustedly. "Anyway, this dude—Phillip Espino—had more than a dozen arrests, alright?" he hurried on before anyone could question him on that, holding up the file from forensics as if to say, 'it's all in here,' "And half the time his bail was posted by his brother-in-law, Sonny Layva. Guess what Sonny drives."

"What?" Don blinked, a part of him not fully able to believe that this could actually be as good a break as it sounded. "A silver pick-up?"

David nodded, grinning slightly. "Yeah, I had the LAPD do a roll by his apartment. The truck's right out front."

"You call SWAT?"

"Colby's already got 'em suiting up," David nodded again. "Judge Stevens already signed the warrant."

Don stopped, halfway turned towards the door when Megan grabbed his arm.

"Don, you _can't go_." The profiler glared at him, shaking her head even as David left the room a little to quickly to be called discreet.

Don glared at her for a long moment, but finally was able to force himself back again. Though he didn't want to nod, to give in, he knew she was right so he did. "Right, I'll just go help Larry and Amita."

Megan shot him a sympathetic look, then hurried out of the room a second later to suit up herself.

Don watched her go, but then forced himself to follow her out the door then turn in the opposite direction with a sigh.

**_An Unknown Location_**

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Charlie wasn't sure about what he wanted to happen right now. Ideally, he'd love to see his big brother, David, Colby and Megan push aside the bookcase and hurry into the room to his rescue. But he knew that, for the moment at least, that was too much to hope for. So, at the moment, he was trying to decide between whether he should go to sleep or not.

The total absence of anything measurable—especially light—made it difficult to mark the passage of time.

He'd never really considered himself claustrophobic—and logically knew that the room he was in, while not large, certainly wasn't tiny—but that didn't seem to matter at the moment. Thanks to his restraints, which aggravated his injuries at even the slightest pull, he could barely move. Thanks to the black bag over his head he couldn't see anything but blackness. And thanks the material that had been used to gag him, which he thought was duct-tape but having never been gagged before couldn't really be sure, but thanks to its existence he couldn't try to call for help that he already knew wouldn't come and he couldn't even talk to himself.

And he was really starting to wish he'd given in to Bonnie's cajoling about 'dinnertime' what had to have been several hours before instead of putting it off. Because now he was hungry. And thirsty, which the irritating gag seemed to exasperate. Of course, struggling to move around—hurting himself or at least causing pain—and exerting considerable amounts of energy.

It had made him hungrier and a lot thirstier than he might otherwise have been, as it had taken several long, painful minutes of struggling before his entire body was lying on the too-thin mat his captors had provided for him.

Still, despite it's thinness it was, at the very least, much more comfortable than the chilly cement floor.

But even more than all of that, he really missed Bonnie. He was understandably worried about her, and hadn't fully realized till she was taken away how much it'd helped to have someone else to talk to.

He'd been far from happy before, trapped in this little, man-made piece of hell, but now he was absolutely miserable.

Trapped in darkness and silence, all he could really do was cling to the hope that his and Bonnie's captor's decision to separate them meant that rescue wasn't far off.

That his big brother was coming.

**_FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California_**

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Don knew that the none-stop tapping he'd maintained—hitting the pencil he was holding against the counter—was probably _very_ annoying to the tech and the other agent in the room. Still, to his credit, Colby hadn't said anything as they continued to watch their teammates interrogate the newly captured perp. And the tech that was monitoring it all was too new to the job to say anything: it usually took a few months before any of them would be willing to challenge an agent over anything other than what their expertise allowed them to. And it usually took them a bit longer than that before they'd challenge Don Eppes.

Don shook his head, frowning severely as he forced himself to remain seated in the observing room, trapped on the outside of the interrogation room by the simple fact that his involvement in the interrogation could get him kicked off the case or worse, allow the perp's lawyer a loophole to help his client walk free.

Still, it was infuriating to watch the man David and Megan were interrogating—Sonny Layva—remain stonily silent and unhelpful.

"Your silence isn't going to help you, Sonny." David was telling the man, his tone falsely set into his role as the 'good cop.' "It's only going to get you in deeper, you know that, right."

Megan pulled a picture out of one of the man folders they'd brought into the room with them, glaring at him as she stated, "You see, that's you, leaving the San Merino Mall _eight minutes_ after Bonnie Parks pulled in."

"You and your friends had her stuffed down there on the floor, didn't you?" David asked, raising an eyebrow as he nodded to the picture of Layva's now deceased brother-in-law's suspicious truck.

The man finally deigned to glance down at the photo but then shook his head and looked away, the sneer on his face making Don's blood boil all the more.

"Sonny," Megan's familiar voice calmed him a little though it wasn't directed at him: he felt better hearing someone else snap at the perp, "it's not you we're after here, what've you got to lose by talking?"

"And how long do you think it's going to take for us to put this whole thing together?" David asked, his tone light as she shook his head. "I mean, do yourself a favor man, earn some points. It might help you avoid the death penalty."

Sonny suddenly laughs and shakes his head incredulously, "Death penalty?"

"Kidnapping's a crime that the courts don't react well to, Sonny." Megan pointed out, her tone now calm instead of harsh as she stated simple facts. Nodding to the picture she pointed out, "We can tie you to Bonnie Park's kidnapping, and to Dr. Charles Eppes's kidnapping. Dr. Eppes is a high-level federal consultant, so you can bet you'll fall under a lotta heat for that. And, if nothing else sticks, you drew a gun and fired on three federal agents who have very good memories."

Sonny shrugged, "So I might get some jail time. I didn't kill nobody!"

Don felt a previously ignored but still unbearable weight lift from his heart in the short silence that followed that statement before David replied, his tone carefully neutral.

"You're saying Bonnie Parks is still alive?"

"Yeah," Sonny nodded shortly, shrugging as he confirmed. "Last time I checked."

SNAP.

The tech jumped a little in his seat while Colby glanced over at the senior agent when the pencil the older man had been holding shattered in his too-tight grasp.

"Wait a minute," David's voice—bearing a note they were all familiar with: the moment when a fellow agent had realized something important to their case—drew their attention back to looking through the one-way window or the monitors that showed what was being recorded of the conversation. "So Richard Taylor just needed her out of the way till he got that vote from the zoning commission."

Layva looked away abruptly, but he didn't need to confirm David's realization. Everyone knew it was true.

"That's right, isn't it?"

"Where is she, Sonny?" Megan demanded, and though Don knew there was nothing wrong with the question—it was one they'd wanted answered for weeks now—they weren't asking the question HE needed answered more than ever now.

Abruptly Layva looked up, his dark eyes determined. "She's safe!" he shook his head as they stared at him. "She's safe, man. Though the boss'll probably move her soon. And the guys he's gonna have to do it aren't as nice as me and mine." Suddenly a smirk crossed his face, "And I don't think the little guy'll do that well once she's taken away."

Both agents stared at him for several long seconds, while in the observation room both Colby and the young tech were warily watching Don, who was radiating fury but still had just enough self-control to keep himself seated and glaring at the perp through the one-way window.

"What'd you mean?" Megan asked after a moment of silence.

Layva shrugged, "He was a lil' more difficult than Bonnie, so he's a bit banged up."

Don didn't even remember rising as his temper—the fury of all his big brother instincts—took over. One second he was seated, glaring through the glass at the perp. And in the next he was firmly pinned against the wall by his junior agent. After several seconds of furious but futile struggles—with his military background on top of the FBI's training program Colby really was _very_ well-trained in hand-to-hand combat—Don finally relented and stopped.

Once he'd drawn in several long and harsh but somewhat calming breaths, Colby's firm hold didn't waver in the slightest as he asked, "You OK, boss?"

Don took another deep breath as the well-trained FBI agent in him reluctantly pulled the big brother back, then he nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Made Bonnie _real_ protective of him, an' we were pretty sure she was taking care of him." In the background he could hear Layva continued even as Colby did too.

"Not gonna try to loose the case by beating the crap outta that piece of—"

"I'm _fine_, Colby," Don repeated firmly. Though he knew another such comment from Layva would probably spark a similar reaction. As the younger agent released him he reluctantly made himself sit down again, both hands gripping the armrests firmly as his eyes went back to the interrogation while Colby's remained on him and the young tech's eyes darted back and forth between the two rooms.

Not that Layva seemed to care that everybody in this building hated him, because his smirk had reemerged as he continued. "But if the boss moves Bonnie he's not gonna move the doc too—better to separate 'em. So without _me_, he ain't got no food, right? He ain't got no water, man." He shrugged again. "Now I can't tell you how much longer he's gonna last like that."

"Uh-huh," David shook his head, "So what are you after?"

"I walk," Layva insisted firmly, glaring when both agents immediately started shaking their heads. "Free and clear. You give me that," he pushes the photo of his late brother-in-law's truck towards Megan, "and I'll tell you where he is."

After a moment of silence Megan shook her head again, replying firmly, "It's not gonna happen, Sonny."

The perp smirked and leaned back in his chair with a shrug, "Then they're both on you, chica. Not me."

And as much as righteous fury wanted to take over at that thought, a part of Don agreed with him.

Except it wasn't Megan's fault Charlie was involved in any of this at all.

Don was the one that had dragged his ever-eager to please young brother into the shadier side of the world. He'd exposed the genius to this without the training to handle any of it or respond to it properly. Then he'd yelled at Charlie for those _stupid_ thirty-seconds of fame when the young genius had obviously been trying to help. And he hadn't even considered the implications of how Bonnie's kidnappers might react to the reporter's implication that Charlie might play a key role in solving the case.

And now Charlie—naïve, often too-smart but still scatter-brained for his own good Charlie—was paying the price.

**_End of Chapter 2: Searching._**

**AN: Well, that wasn't really where I wanted to stop, but it seemed like a good place to. I hope you liked the chapter, and sorry for the way.**

**Also, sorry for any rough-work you saw in this chapter. As I stated earlier, I don't have a beta-reader for this fic so I'm probably going to re-post this chapter in a week or two after I've had the chance to really edit it. I did go through it myself a few times and often told I can be too critical of my own work, but experience has taught me that no matter how harsh or critical we try to be with ourselves, our eyes can still have a hard time finding faults in our work. So if you see something please, please, PLEASE point it out. **

**Oh, and it looks like I only have one note from within the chapter, but if you see something else I should explain PLEASE point that out too.**

**(1) I looked for a 'minimum' on how much water we need to drive to survive, and found it surprisingly difficult to pinpoint. Therefore I seized onto the first time I actually found a solid statement of fact, which was as follows: "The minimum water requirement for replacement purposes, for an "average" person, has been estimated to be approximately 3 liters (3.2 quarts) per day, given average temperate climate conditions." ~ Advameg. Inc. 'Water Encyclopedia' – 'Survival Needs. (**URL: .**)**

**Thanks for reading. **

**Reviews (and especially constructive criticism) are always appreciated. Flames aren't, but if you really want to waste your time, go ahead.**

**Bye for now! ^_^**

**Jess S**

**NEXT: _Chapter 3: Rescue?_**


	4. Chapter 3: Rescue? P1

**Disclaimers: ****Numb3rs**** belongs to Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci…I think. (NOT me! NEVER me!)  
Summary: **What if instead of silencing Dr. Eppes permanently, Bonnie Parks' kidnappers just wanted him out of the way so that the reporter would not be found before they were ready to release her?

**Warnings: **Spoilers for Season 4, Episode 11: "_Breaking Point_", and possibly other episodes that relate ... I can't think of any warnings other than that. If you think of any that I should mention, please let me know!

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the wait. As a recent reviewer chastised me; two-and-a-half years really is too long. This chapter is shorter than I'd like, but breaking what I'd been planning for Chapter 3 into two parts helped me keep it going, and give a little bit to you guys, too. Enjoy! ^_^

* * *

**Abduction**

By Jess S

_**Chapter 3: Rescued? **_

_**Part 1**_

* * *

_**FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California**_

_4-1-5-1-4-0-1-9—1-6-1-5-9-1-4-2-0—1-5-6—2-2-9-5-2-3_

"I don't suppose any of you would be civilized enough to offer me a cup of coffee?" Taylor raised an eyebrow at Colby and David as they entered the interrogation room, "Seeing as you dragged me away from my breakfast."

"Maybe your pal Layval'll be open to fetching coffee for you when you join him in federal prison," Colby retorted, his expression not quite neutral and his tone much more hostile then he probably should be, considering they really didn't have anything to hold Taylor with. But as they _knew_ the man had something to do with the disappearance of one of their own, utterly unbiased was pretty hard to be right now.

Taylor raised an eyebrow at him, and then he actually had the nerve to laugh out loud, shaking his head in clear amusement that didn't reach his eyes.

"You think that's funny?" David asked, raising an eyebrow back at the suspect as he sat down across from him, even as Colby chose to remain standing, hovering over the table, every muscle taut with suppressed fury.

The real-estate tycoon shook his head. "You don't have anything on me. If you did, I'm sure I'd be locked up already. But—" he raised his hands for a moment, glancing at both wrists and then smirking as his arms dropped down to the table again. "I don't see any cuffs."

"We just like to be thorough," David shrugged. "And we've got Sonny Layva."

"You know that when we find Bonnie she's gonna finger Sonny, right?" Colby demanded harshly, shaking his head. "And there's no way Sonny's gonna be doing the double-kidnapping rap on his own."

Again, Taylor shrugged in apparent disinterest. "Sorry, I'm not sweating," he smirked as he shook his head again. "Despite the heat in here; deodorant's a useful thing, you might wanta try it some time."

"You know all these wise-cracks aren't gonna do you much good in the long run," David shook his head in response. "You know they won't buy you any points with us. And you know Sonny is gonna roll on you."

"Yeah, I've known him for less than a day and I can tell he's not the type to keep quiet," Colby put in. "Especially when he can only gain from talking."

"Whoever this 'Sonny' is, he—"

"Just last night he offered to tell us where Bonnie and Charlie are, in exchange for immunity." David cut Taylor off. "The DA probably won't care for that. But we just might be willing to let Layva off the hook if he can lead us to a bigger fish, too."

"How long before you think he considers that?" Colby asked, his tone calmer as he directed the question towards his fellow agent.

"Maybe a few days. Can't imagine he'll wanna stay in federal prison for any longer than he has too."

"No, it's not a pleasant place," Colby agreed with a smirk as he raised an eyebrow at Taylor again. "What's more, these really aren't just simple kidnapping charges any more. Bonnie Parks was fairly well-known, but in the end she was just a reporter."

"That's right. Dr. Eppes—in addition to being a well-known and respected mathematical genius—consults for the FBI, the ATF, the NSA, NASA, the DOD—hell, everybody high up in the government, basically. Plus loads of companies a heck of a lot bigger—and more powerful—than yours."

"Yeah, and he's on a first name basis with the Assistant Director of the NSA."

They were interrupted by a soft knock on the door, and looked towards it as Megan poked her head in. "A Markus Stantinelly is here for Mr. Taylor."

"My attorney," Taylor confirmed with a grunt. "I trust you all know the law well enough to know I'm entitled to one? As I'm entitled to hear whatever charges you have against me." He smirked, "Anything involving that punk you keep bringing up will certainly be fun for Markus to tear apart in court."

Don shook his head as he watched Megan let Taylor's solicitor in.

Looks like today's interview was over.

And they were back to square one.

* * *

_**An Unknown Location**_

3-8-1-1-8-1-2-9-5-0-1-9_—1-6-1-5-9-1-4-2-0—1-5-6—2-2-9-5-2-3_

Charlie moaned softly as his stomach rumbled, trying to ignore its complaints. His growing hunger and thirst—combined with the considerable amount of pain he was in—were making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. He kept trying to work through various theories, expressions and equations in his head; he'd even started thinking through P vs. NP a few times. To no avail.

A growing part of him wanted to go to sleep; to leave the painful world behind and hopefully wake up in a hospital surrounded by his family and friends...

But there was also a growing fear that he might not wake up at all.

He didn't think he had a concussion, but he had hit his head earlier and had suffered the early signs of a developing migraine not long after. The migraine, of course, made him want to sleep even more, but the fear of a life-threatening concussion kept him awake.

Even if that wasn't a danger though, who knows what kind of long-term damage his various wounds might result in? Was he bleeding internally? He was definitely in a lot of pain... but how could he tell?

Still, the pain was starting to feel a little fuzzy—just a little muted as exhaustion crept in, slowly stealing his ability to keep his eyes open.

_Gotta stay awake,_ he thought desperately, biting into his lower lip till it bled.

The small jolt of pain—compared to what he'd feel if tried to move the more injured areas of his body it was small, but it—was just enough to force his mind back to full, painful consciousness.

_Gotta stay awake. Don and the others are coming... They'll find me. …They will._

And for once he determinedly ignored his numbers, which were starting to indicate that the odds were stacked significantly against him…

* * *

_**FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California**_

_4-1-5-1-4-0-1-9—1-6-1-5-9-1-4-2-0—1-5-6—2-2-9-5-2-3_

Don sighed as he set yet another stack of tips aside.

The public could, at times, be entirely too helpful. Calling in 'sightings,' events, and sometimes just gossip, that really had nothing to do with their case. The constant calls bogged the investigating team down in way too much Intel. Intel that, more often then not, could really only be useful to Charlie for some special search-equation or another.

Still, Don really shouldn't be going through them now. There was a chance, however slight, that he might miss something important. Since his mind really wasn't on these files. It was traveling down memory lane, to the last time he'd seen his brother in person. Whole and healthy, but definitely nervous about something.

Don had heard the hesitation in the genius's voice. A shaky kind of worrying that a part of him had known not to dismiss. The repressed over-protective big-brother had heard it. But Don, the pissed-off brother and agent hadn't wanted to listen. Had felt that the probably worthless tips—meaningless transcripts of hotline calls and emails—were more important than whatever Charlie wanted to say to him.

'_Don... Can I talk to you for a second?' Charlie had asked._

At the time, a part of him had assumed that Charlie was trying to apologize. Again.

But he wasn't ready to hear it.

Wasn't ready to forgive his brother for slipping up.

Not yet.

Not then.

And now it didn't matter because it was too late.

"_About what? Something you left out of your interview?" _

A sharp rebuke that had almost definitely hurt his little brother.

At the very least, it had made Charlie shut down instead of open up. Run away and hide instead of telling big brother about the bad guys that had chased him. Scared him.

"_N-No... I already apologized for that. I made a mistake—"_

He had apologized.

Several times to Don. And David. And Colby.

Apparently to the Assistant Director—who'd mentioned it a little while ago—and everyone else the mathematician came into contact with while consulting for the FBI.

He'd even called Megan and left a message apologizing to her. Despite the fact that she was probably hundreds of miles away and had nothing to do with the case.

Of course, none of that—though he'd only known of the apologies to himself and his present team—had factored into Don's response to his brother's outcry. _"Yeah, a mistake, Charlie. One that the Bureau __**has**__ fired people for in the past. 'Sorry' doesn't cut it! Don't you have work to do?"_

"_Y-Yeah, but—"_

Bonnie's case had, of course, been more important.

It'd been a while since anything had been more important than work. Don had asked for time off when his Mom was dying. But that was about it. And he'd been too angry at his brother, for supposedly abandoning their mother those last few months, to really try to talk to him in that time.

He'd completely ignored the fact that Charlie had been living with the fact that their mother had been dying for months—if not years—before Don had been told about it.

In hindsight, a part of him had known. But until he'd picked up the phone to hear his Dad calling him home, he hadn't consciously even recognized the possibility that she might not get better.

Charlie had had to face that reality a lot sooner than Don himself did.

Not that Don had known that, either. Not until he'd run into his mother's old doctor, and the kind lady's comment about how caring his brother had been and how hard he'd taken their mother's diagnosis had made him want to dig further.

Apparently Charlie had known that their Mom was sick before their Dad did.

Had known before Margaret Eppes, herself, had accepted the possibility.

Had noticed when she'd started showing signs of the severe illness and eventually convinced her to see a doctor about it.

Had been there the first time his mother learned that she had breast cancer.

Had been there the first time their Dad learned the horrible fact.

Had been there the first time it went into remission.

And the second time.

And the third.

And a part of him had known when it came out of remission for their mother's fourth round against it, that this would be the last one. Don didn't know if it was the genius in him or just gut instincts, but Charlie had known. The knowledge had, for a time, broken him.

And Don and Alan hadn't known what to do about it. Margaret Eppes was always the one who really understood Charlie. She still did, she'd told them. She'd told them to take care of him, to help him and forgive him.

"_Alright, what?"_

"_Huh?"_

"_What'd you want, Charlie? 'Cause I'm really busy here and need to get going on the analysis. Wasted time could cost Bonnie Parks her life. If she's still alive."_

And instead of helping him and taking care of him, Don had snapped at him and all but shoved him away. To be attacked by the kind of people Charlie's life never should have brought him near. Wouldn't have, if he'd stayed away from his big brother.

"_Oh, y-yeah. Y-You're right. I'll just... go get started then."_

_Don frowned at his brother's retreating back. "Charlie, what'd you want to talk about?"_

For just a moment, his instincts had reared their head, forcing to be recognized over his annoyance. But by then it was too late.

_Charlie stopped and turned back with a sigh. "I-It's probably nothing," he shook his head. "Forget about it."_

His so-called 'big brother instincts' had been going crazy as he'd watched his brother run away from him to jam himself into the nearly full elevator on the other side of the office. But he'd ignored it. Ignored the part of his gut that had been trained to watch out for danger decades before he'd become an agent. The part of him that had been looking after his baby brother for years.

"D-Don?"

Dons started slightly as a familiar, hesitant voice startled him out of his dark musings. Looking up, he forced a small smile for his brother's worried girlfriend, "Hey Amita, what's up?"

Amita bit her lip, wringing her hands for a second, before replying. "I, um, Larry and I, w-we might have found something."

"With Bonnie's code?" the agent asked, rising from his seat. He gently set one hand on her shoulder, steering her back towards the room she and Larry had been scrutinizing the strange numbers in for several hours.

"Y-Yeah," Amita nodded, hurrying forward.

Larry looked up as both of them entered the room, Don a few steps behind Amita. "Don, hello."

"Amita said you had something for us?" Don asked, and then nodded as all three of his fellow agents hurried into the room behind him. If he remembered right, all three had been in the break room, waiting for the new pot of coffee to finish brewing when Amita had come to get him, but they'd undoubtedly wanted to know what the two scientists had come up with when they'd seen him hurrying off after Amita.

"Yes, as strange as it may seem," the physicist shook his head as he pointed at the documents he and Amita had been studying for several hours now. "This isn't a code. Not in the way you're thinking."

Don blinked, not even bothering to hide the confused frown that wanted to show itself in response to that. "Huh?"

"It's data," Amita explained, her soft voice now a little more confident with something important and mathematical to focus on. "Real estate data."

"Like—"

"You see these here," Larry picked up a red marker and underlined several sets of numbers. "These are ten digit property ID numbers," then he set the marker down to grab a blue one instead and underline more numbers. "These are the square footage—"

"Plus the track numbers, and asset values," Amita cut in, before shaking her head. "But they don't make sense."

Sensing that this was the important part, Don raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"You must understand," Larry shook his head again, though his frown was still directed towards the numbers on the board. He didn't seem to notice that he hadn't capped the blue marker in his hand, so each time he tapped it against his chin it left a faint blue mark. "Property values are _never_ independent of each other."

Amita took over again, even as she sat down by the computer and started punching in a bunch of codes on a screen he couldn't see. Not that he'd probably understand half of what she was doing, anyway. "All real estate values depend on the market as a whole, plus the location of the property, the size, then the house itself and its conditions," she shook her head. "And a whole bunch of other stuff. But the bottom line is you'll never find a neighborhood where any of the houses are independent from one property to the next."

Don nodded in understanding, even as Colby cut in from where he, David and Megan were standing over by the door. "Right, the value of your house is related to what your neighbors could get for his."

"Precisely," Larry nodded.

"So what's wrong with this data?" Don asked.

Larry nodded to the projector just as Amita apparently hit a key on the keyboard to make it start projecting a map of Los Angeles with a bunch of little red dots on it. "These are all of the properties Miss Parks had data on. As you can see—"

"Lot of that's prime real estate," David interjected, receiving another nod from both professors. "I mean, it's not downtown, but it's pretty close.

"They're all properties that Mister, um, Taylor bought." Amita told them, shaking her head again. "And he got them for incredibly low prices, considering everything that should've factored into the pricing."

"The quality of many of the buildings on these lots was not high, most were old, small and in considerable disrepair," Larry commented.

Which was why Taylor was being hailed as a hero for renovating the entire area.

"But it still doesn't make sense," Amita snapped, becoming agitated. "I mean, yeah, a lot of them are like that, but not all of them. And that doesn't change the fact that the location _is_ worth a lot. Plus, not everything Taylor's bought up was like that. Some of the apartment complexes were relatively new, and the only reason a lot of the tenants could afford staying there before was because the government had fixed the rent years before."

Don shook his head in confusion, "I still don't get it. Yeah, this is pretty close to downtown, but you just said that all the properties effect the prices of their neighbors, right? So if enough of 'em are in bad shape, that'd lower the price for the area in general, right?"

"Which is probably why no one's been looking too much at it," Amita nodded, before shaking her head vehemently as she started hitting key on the computer to call up a window on the monitor, which soon displayed more real estate information. Specifically, other properties for sale nearby. "But these are some of the places he didn't buy up. Some of them are right next to ones he did, they just happen to be in a different county, and the prices are much higher. It doesn't make sense."

"Different county?" Don cocked his head to the side in thought for a second as he followed that line of thought. "Different assessor?"

He saw lights go on all around the room—specifically in his teammates' eyes as the realization dawned on them too. Not that he'd fully worked it out, either.

"So Taylor found a way to under-assess the home prices?" Colby frowned, "If he owned in the county assessor's office…"

Amita nodded as she picked that up, "That might explain how he could artificially undervalue all the properties in the area he wanted to develop."

"Which would save him millions of dollars, probably," David followed, "as he bought those properties?"

"Most probabilistically hundreds of millions," Larry theorized.

"That'd be a lot more than bad press, then, if Bonnie Parks exposed it," Megan commented.

"Yeah," Don agreed, "That'd have to be pretty major real estate fraud," he started to turn towards the door, to go make the necessary calls to get this fully looked into, but stopped when he saw Megan had paled slightly. "You okay, Megan?"

She nodded slowly, but the worry in her eyes was not hard to read as she looked at him. "Don, if that's the case, I don't think he was planning on just letting Parks go. I mean, sure she might be too late to stop him from getting by the zoning commission, but she could still expose him for the fraud, which'd lose him the project, probably a lotta money to fines, and he'd still be facing jail time."

Don stared at her in horror for a long moment, horror that he knew everyone in the room shared, then he swallowed as he turned back to look at Larry and his brother's girlfriend. "Amita, Larry, thank you. You've been a big help here," then he jerked his head at the others. "Guys, come with me." The other F.B.I. agents followed him out of the room and down to another conference room. He turned back to them once they were all inside, waiting till Colby had closed the door before he said anything. "Layva said they were going to move Bonnie, right?"

"He said that someone else would do it," David replied quietly.

No one wanted to say that it'd probably somebody who wouldn't mind killing her.

* * *

_**An Unknown Location**_

3-8-1-1-8-1-2-9-5-0-1-9_—1-6-1-5-9-1-4-2-0—1-5-6—2-2-9-5-2-3_

Charlie startled violently as he came to again, "Damn it!" he swore furiously, angry with himself for giving into the exhaustion that continued to pull him away from his own little hole of hell, as insistent as the tide. Made even more relentless by the pain of his injuries, the grumbling of his belly and the cramps that might be caused by any number of things; but were certainly not helped by his being unable to stay hydrated. He supposed he should be glad, in that respect, that he'd been left in a basement instead of a closet. Given the heat-wave the weathermen had been threatening the past few days, the coldness of the basement floor was uncomfortable, but sort of a blessing.

If his headache was tied to a concussion that was linked to any real brain damage, he was probably already done for. But an illogical part of him continued to hope that as long as he stayed awake he'd be alright.

He knew the odds were against him.

But he still believed in his brother. And Don's team—Charlie's friends.

"Gotta stay awake," he told himself, annunciating each word.

As though the vocal reminder would make the fact stick in his brilliant brain more than it already was, and make his body obey.

"They will find me."

The genius continued to ignore the numbers that'd always been a comfort to him in the past, unwilling to accept his logical awareness of the fact that his chances were dwindling with each passing second.

* * *

_**FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California**_

_4-1-5-1-4-0-1-9—1-6-1-5-9-1-4-2-0—1-5-6—2-2-9-5-2-3_

"How much longer do you think they have?" Colby murmured, making Don—and everyone else—grimace.

"No way to know," David answered, his eyes locked on the computer in front of him. "Sonny and his thugs, they were hired to stash Bonnie somewhere, right? Where would they put her?"

Megan snorted, "If we knew that, we'd've found them already, David."

Don shot her a look, angry with her for reinforcing the doubts already churning it his gut. Doubts that hadn't been helped by Layva's words about 'the little guy' being in poor shape.

Colby sighed, "Taylor's company owns forty-six properties," he gestured to a list open on his computer even as he shook his head. "But there's no way he could've stashed Bonnie, or Charlie, in any one of those. It's too risky; too much chance they'd be heard or—"

"Hold on," David cut him off, frowning as he minimized the file he'd been perusing to open another instead. "Yeah, I thought so. Beonnie's list has forty-_nine_ properties. You said forty-six?"

Colby blinked, looking between the two computer screens, and nodding as Don and Megan walked around behind the two of them. "Yeah, you're right. He owns three others that we excluded from the list because they weren't part of the appraisal scam."

"And all of those were downtown," Don nodded. "But where are the other three?"

"They're rural tracks," Colby replied as he opened another program to start inputting the first set of coordinates, watching as the program brought up a detailed map of the area in question.

"Those're pretty isolated man." David murmured, more hope in his voice than Don was willing to reach for just yet, "Good places to hide someone, right?"

Megan spotted the problem with the first track of land, "There's nowhere to put them there."

"Yeah, this one's just raw equipment." Colby nodded in agreement, as he finished typing the coordinates for the next track.

All four agents frowned when the map came up.

"That one too," Colby sighed, quickly punching in the data for the third tack.

"Come one, come on," David murmured softly as they watched the computer, Megan clasped her hands together as if in prayer, Don's attention remained fixated on the screen as the map came up.

Finally, the image popped up.

"Wait a minute, there we go!" Colby pointed out, and all of the agents stared excitedly at the screen. "There's an old house."

Don turned to Megan, unhappy to see her frowning. "We'll need a—"

"Getting a warrant's gonna be hard, Don. That property's not part of the real estate fraud, and we done have enough to pin that to Taylor yet—the techs are still analyzing everything—so we can't get a warrant on—"

Don spun away from her, storming towards the media room doors, headed for the elevator outside. "Just get it going, Megan. I'll call in a few favors."

He'd saved a few of them up over the years. And if worse came to worse, he wasn't above dropping Charlie's name in high places to get this going if he had to. Not when it might save his life.

* * *

_**An Unknown Location**_

3-8-1-1-8-1-2-9-5-0-1-9_—1-6-1-5-9-1-4-2-0—1-5-6—2-2-9-5-2-3_

His stomach had recently contented itself with feeling just a bit nauseous, finally realizing that pangs of hunger weren't going to make him ingest food. No matter how much he wanted to.

It was hard to track time in the pitch black.

Charlie usually had a very good sense of what time it was. But that was because it didn't take him brain long to remember the last time he'd registered and use that as a frame of reference to figure out the current time based on whatever he'd been doing since then. When he was working on something, it didn't tend to work as well. He could tie his brain up in equations for days without ever noticing the passing time.

But he really wasn't used to not knowing the time when he honestly wanted to.

Given how hungry he was, he was pretty sure that he'd missed two meals by now. On top of how little he'd eaten before that and his injuries, he was starving.

He also thought it was getting into the evening because the air—and especially the floor—felt cooler now. However distant the sun's rays had been from the basement prison during the day, their complete absence outside meant the cold from out there was seeping down into his hellhole and into his bones.

Charlie licked his lips, grimacing slightly as he aggravated the bite he'd made earlier and made it start bleeding again. "Gotta stay awake," he told himself yet again. He didn't know how many times it'd been; he'd made a concerted effort to not let himself count. "They will find me. They will."

* * *

_**An old house on a rural track near Los Angeles, California**_

_4-1-5-1-4-0-1-9—1-6-1-5-9-1-4-2-0—1-5-6—2-2-9-5-2-3_

Don couldn't help but frown severely as he was forced to watch his team—backed up by SWAT—surround the house. This 'not really being allowed on the case' thing was beyond aggravating, but he knew better to push his luck and get himself thrown off it entirely.

So he waited until he heard Megan give an "all clear" through the radio before he hurried inside, frown deepening as no news of rescued prisoners came out too.

"Nothing," David was sighing as Don joined them inside, his head barely visible as he shook it in the dark room. "They're not here."

"Damn it!" Colby swore, the helpless anger that Don was keeping suppressed somehow finding it's way out on the younger agent's tongue.

"It's all right, man," David immediately reassured him, and Don could feel his eyes settled on him for a moment before going back to Colby. "We're gonna find them, okay? It's just not this one."

"Where, then, David? This was it!"

Don froze suddenly, attention yanked away from his team by an unexpected sound.

_Thump. Thump._

He saw the other three pause, but was already looking around to try and pinpoint the sound, throwing a glare towards a nearby staircase when a SWAT team member stomped down it.

"Everybody quiet!" Colby's trained voice boomed through the room, and was immediately obeyed.

For a second total silence reigned.

Then: _Thump. Thump. Thump._

"It's coming from below us," Don spoke quietly, looking around.

"The basement!" Colby realized, moving towards a nearby, open door.

Don started to follow, then glared as Megan's hand on his arm made him stop, but let David follow Colby down the stairs, guns and flashlights marking the way down steadily.

The area below was a typical storage area. A cement floor with shelves all around, most of them holding paint cans.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

The banging was louder now, and no longer from below. Instead it was behind one of the bookcases, which Colby was already headed towards.

"Back there."

Don hurried forward with one of the SWAT members, quickly grabbing and dragging the relatively light piece of furniture forward to expose the opening in the wall behind it. He let Colby dart in ahead of him, but followed one step behind.

And there was Bonnie Parks; gagged and tied up on a thin mattress.

Alone.

"Bonnie," Colby holstered his gun as he approached her, kneeling down slightly. "My name is Colby. FBI," he carefully worked her gag out. "You okay?"

"I-I wasn't sure you'd hear me," she answered shakily.

"We heard you," Colby reassured her unnecessarily as he pulled out his swiss army knife, flipping one of the blades out to carefully cut away at the ropes binding her hands behind her back. "Can you stand up?"

Before she could answer—or rise—Don stepped forward. "Bonnie, was anyone else here with you?"

Startled sapphire eyes shot up to meet his, the startlement giving way to realization, then uncertainty. "…Agent Eppes?"

Don felt like his heart had stopped beating, only to start again, flooded with at least a small measure of relief as he nodded, holding out one hand to help her up. "Yeah, I'm Don Eppes."

_**End of**_

_**Chapter 3: **__**Rescued? **_

_**Part 1.**_

* * *

**Author's Note: **Short, I know. But we're getting there.

This chapter is still a little rougher than I'd like: some parts just wouldn't flow comfortably for me when I was writing—or editing—them. But with no acceptable alternatives, they got to stay in.

I hope it was at least a little worth waiting for. And hopefully I'll be able to get the rest of the fic up soon.

Constructive criticism really does help; especially when my muses aren't inclined to.

Also, I have no beta-reader for this story, so I'd appreciate it if any big errors were pointed out.

**Bye for now! ^_^**

**Jess S**

* * *

**NEXT: **

_**Rescued? **_

_**Part 2.**_


End file.
